


Speakeasy Spirits

by CSakuraS, Tiffo



Category: Ghost Hunt
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Eugene Davis Lives, Eventual Romance, F/M, Ghosts, Horror, M/M, Multi, Organized Crime, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2018-12-30 17:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12113778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CSakuraS/pseuds/CSakuraS, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiffo/pseuds/Tiffo
Summary: Prohibition-era Boston, where crime controls the streets and booze flows in secret.  When a dangerous encounter throws Mai into a new job, she is ready to start afresh.  However, a shadowy underworld lurks at the edge of her sight.  The handsome twins she befriends are not all that they seem.  But then, Mai might not be either.





	1. Chapter 1

       

* * *

 

##  Chapter 1

 

**This shortcut was** a bad idea. 

Mai wasn’t three steps down the alley before the tingle began between her shoulders. She tried to chalk it up to fatigue. A twelve hour shift was bound to leave her aching. She rolled her neck and shoulders, hoping it would go away.

The windows in the lane were dark or shuttered tight despite the heat that still rolled through the night streets. The lamps of the elevated railway at the end of the block left the alley in more than a passing gloom.

A shuffling came from her left and the twinge spread, ramping up her heartbeat with it.

Mai had taken shortcuts before, both deliberate and accidental. Still learning the Boston streets, she was always on the lookout for a new way home from the factory.

The shuffling became a steady crinkle right next to her and Mai froze. Maybe she could run the rest of the way? 

Something slid in the dark, a metallic clatter causing her to jump. As she took a step, something heavy and warm fell across her foot. 

Mai screamed, and a large rat flew from her foot and through the air.  Landing a few feet ahead, it writhed to right itself, then scurried into the dark of a large trash pile, sending one of the bottles rolling across the path.

“What’d you do that for?” Mai scolded the retreating rodent, leaning against the wall to catch her breath.

Some tough city dame she was. Scared by a rat.

Mai sighed and pushed up from the wall, her tired head causing her to stumble a step on the uneven pavement. 

There was a shift in the trash pile. 

Mai was about to tell the rat off again when a piece of the shadow grew, pulling itself up to more than twice the heap’s previous height.

The itch was back and stinging all the more.

A lumbering movement separated more of the tall shadow from the rest of the pile.  Mai could make out the shape of a man.

“Hey there, kitten.”  His voice was heavy, it felt sticky and foul. She could smell the bitter scent of unwashed body buried beneath the alcohol.  “What’s a dish like you doing out on your own this time of night?” 

She shouldn’t say anything, she should keep walking, ignore him. The street and the light were less than thirty feet away. But Mai couldn’t move. He wasn’t blocking her path outright, but she was going to have to pass him to get there. 

“You live nearby? Maybe you could do with someone watching over you.”

She needed to go; between his scent and the thickness of his speech, maybe he would be too far gone and she would be able to slide past him. 

She took a step forward, but he matched her, moving towards her with a step of his own. Closer, she could see his emotionless eyes.  His face was haggard, clothes disheveled.

Mai took another step, but once again he mirrored her.

“Pardon me,” she tried, “I need to go.”

“Aren’t you a hoity toity one.” He pulled his hand from his pocket and gave it a flick. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere, kitten.”

Mai’s eyes widened at the pocket knife that he held towards her. 

“Oh, no…”  

“You got a fancy mouth, so how’s about you open that bag and we see how fancy.”

Hands shaking, she opened her purse. 

“Please, I don’t have much…”

“Don’t care,” the man said gruffly, “now come here and _ give it.” _

He launched at her and Mai ran.  She heard the man growl and scramble after her, heavy footsteps thudding closer and closer.

She was too slow.  No, he was too fast.  She wouldn’t make it.

“Please, go away!” Mai cried.  He would be upon her soon. 

Suddenly, she slammed into something, spots forming in her vision as a weight clamped down on her shoulders.

“Whoa, steady,” a voice told her. 

But Mai wasn’t listening, her arm was already pulling back, swinging up to connect with whatever it could reach so she could break free. 

The talking wall reeled back from the force of her fist and Mai tried to bolt, but a vice like grip solidified around her wrist, yanking her back.

“Let me go!”

“Damn, socked me real good, didn’t ya.”

Mai stopped pulling at her wrist and turned back to see a young man rubbing at his jaw. A flat cap was pulled low on his face, but she could still see bright blue eyes nestled between dark bangs. 

He noticed her look and, removing his hand from his jaw, flashed a brilliant smile that seemed out of place in a desperate situation like this.

“It’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, still smiling. “What are those mitts made out of, anyway? Lead?”

Mai wasn’t sure if she was supposed to answer, and before she could decide, a large arm came swinging at them. She could see the gleam of the knife as it barreled towards them, but then they were moving. 

The smile fell from her rescuer’s face as he spun them away from the intruding appendage and, using the momentum, swung his own elbow into the other man’s ribs.

“Careful there, fella,” the rescuer warned, the jovial tone still lacing his voice. 

“She’s mine,” said the mugger, taking a step back to steady himself, an arm wrapped around his chest.

“Not that I can see,” the other man replied. 

“This man tried to rob me!” Mai said, pointing.  

“I see.”  The young man stepped in front of her with his hands out.  “Now how about we resolve this peaceably?”

The mugger eyed the rescuer up and down. He seemed to like this turn of events. He straightened, unwrapping his arm from around himself, and looked down at the rescuer, his face dark with a heavy scowl. The rescuer just smiled back, though now Mai felt it was out of place in a much more unnerving way. And the way his eyes held the larger man’s, Mai wasn’t really sure that he was as interested in a peaceable solution as he claimed.

“Give me everything you got.”

Mai groaned; now she had gotten a stranger caught in this mess.

The young man chuckled. “Oh, you don’t want to do that.”

“Don’t I?”  The mugger waved his knife.  “Hurry up, or I’ll slice your throat.”

“Look bruno, it’s not too late to turn back.”

“You making fun of me?”  

The mugger leapt forward.

Mai gasped, covering her face with her hands.

There was a whoosh, and a dull thud.

Mai looked through her fingers.  The mugger was face down on the ground, a brick resting beside his head.

“Wha...what?” Mai muttered, frozen as she stared at his unmoving body. 

“Just in time,” the rescuer sighed in relief, letting his hand fall from where it had been tucked inside his jacket.  

Mai jumped, as another man appeared at the edge of the shadows.  She couldn’t make him out, his black suit and fedora blending him too well into the darkness.

“You had me going there for a second, I thought maybe you really weren’t gonna show,” the young man chuckled.

Mai stared at the newcomer.  Whoever he was, he seemed to be a friend of her rescuer’s.  She glanced down at the mugger. 

“He’s not...dead, is he?”

“Nah, just knocked out.”  The young man looked to the man in black and gestured to the mugger.  “Take care of this, will you?” He clapped his hand on Mai’s shoulder.  “I’ll show her out.”

The man in black clicked his tongue, but stood aside to let them pass, pulling a cigarette out of a case and shutting it with a snap.  The young man led her towards the end of the alley.

“B-But I…”

“You look like you could use some pie. I know a great place.”

“Pie?” Mai asked, still blinking at the body on the ground.

“Come on, we don’t want to cause any more of a scene, do we?” He gave her shoulder a small squeeze and Mai looked back up at him. “Don’t worry, my brother will handle it. Won’t cha, Ollie?” 

“Brother?”  Mai couldn’t make out the other man’s face, as it was hidden behind the brim of his hat. All she could see was the red tip of a cigarette glowing in the darkness.  “Who are you two?”

“Name’s Gene,” her rescuer said. When the man in black didn’t respond, or even acknowledge her, Gene went on. “Come on, you like lemon meringue?  You look like a lemon meringue kinda gal. The diner’s just at the end of the block.” He pointed to a lit window under a sign that read  _ Tuft’s Diner _ further down on Old Colony.

It was a walk, but not out of sight, and the tingle had finally stopped between her shoulders. So Mai allowed herself to be led away from the scene, still gathering her thoughts. 

 

**In the alley** , Oliver waited for their voices to grow distant.  

At his feet, the mugger stirred, groaning.  “Ugh, shit…” He sat up, pressing a hand to the sticky wound on his head. Then pulling it away with a growl. “You’re gonna bleed for this.”

Oliver flicked away his finished cigarette, a polished shoe stepping out to crush the burning ember as soon as it hit the ground. 

“Hey, you little shit. You disrespecting me?” The mugger scrambled up, pulling himself to loom over the other man. “Let’s see how you do when you can’t get the drop on someone.” 

Oliver didn’t answer.  He put a new cigarette between his lips and snapped his cigarette case shut.

The mugger grew pale, his shoulders pulling back. His hands, outstretched to fight, curled in front of his body protectively. His eyes were locked on the cigarette case, the brushed silver glowing in the dim light, and the design of a large eye engraved on it.

“Oh, shit...it’s  _ you _ .”

Oliver put the case away and took out his lighter.

“Oh God, I, I didn’t mean nothin’!”  The mugger got on his knees. “I didn’t know!  I-I’ll pay you! I got a family! Mercy, please!”

Oliver lit his cigarette.  Took a drag. Breathed out.  The man was making a scene. Exactly what he was here to prevent. He reached a gloved hand into his pocket. 

“I wasn’t gonna hurt the girl!  Honest to God!”

As if he cared about some girl. 

“Please, I’ll do anything!  Anythi—”

The mugger dropped to the ground. A slight pinging sounded a handful of times before it too went silent.  

Oliver held out his gloved hand as a small red orb flew into it. He took a deep drag and left the alley with a smokey exhale.

\------

**“It’s good, right?”**

Mai looked up at Gene, first bite of an enormous slice of lemon meringue firmly planted in her mouth. She had still been rather shell shocked when they arrived, so she’d let Gene order for her as they settled into a booth against the wall.

She nodded.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

Mai nodded again, finished her bite, and added, “Thank you.”

“No skin off my back. Besides, now I get to have pie with the prettiest girl in South Boston.” 

Mai felt her cheeks warm and ran a hand through her auburn hair, pulling at the tangles.  

“So what’s your story, morning glory?” he asked. Her poor choice in route this time of night meant that she lacked any understanding of this part of the city. So his first thought had been that she was some rich dame who had gotten lost looking for a night of excitement. But in the light of the diner he could see that her clothes, while well cared for, had the slightly dated and well worn quality of the secondhand.

“My...story?” Mai asked.

“Yeah, it’s obvious you’re not from around here. Your family move in?”

“No, I don’t— it’s just me,” Mai said, eating another bite of pie. 

Gene could feel a length behind those words. She had been on her own, perhaps for a while. 

“So, what’s your name?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I never even told you my name. You rescued me, got me food, and I didn’t even— how can I repay you? Oh, and your brother. Do you think he will be okay? Should we ask the diner owner to phone the police?”

“Slow down, slow down.” Gene held back a chuckle. If she was this scatterbrained, then tonight wasn’t going to be the last time she walked herself into some trouble.

“My brother can take care of himself. Everything's under control. You like the pie, yeah?”

“Oh yes, I do. Thank you again.”

“That’s great. So, your name?” Gene asked.  He took a sip from his coffee and, grimacing, brought a finger to his now swelling lip. 

Mai blanched. “Oh, I’ve done it again! I’m so sorry. I’m Mai.”

“Mai, that’s nice.”

 

**Mai felt her** blush intensify. His constant flirting was so strange, but exciting. She had been scolded any time a boy had even looked at her before, and here they were, at nearly midnight, eating together at a diner.

“So what had you prowling the alleys so late at night, Mai?” 

“I was looking for a shortcut from the factory.”

“You working in a factory?”

“Yes, but it’s only temporary,” Mai told him with the swiftness of the overly defensive.  “I’m going to be a teacher.”

“What, like a governess?”

“No,” Mai corrected, pointing at him with her fork, “a proper teacher. At a school.” 

“Oh, sorry, Ma’am.”

Mai shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with her own outburst, but unwilling to take it back. She would not be a governess. She would  _ not _ .

“I just have to find some time to speak with some of the local schools. This is just temporary.”

“Sure.” Gene knew full well that a factory job was never going to afford her that time. He knew he should just let it go, but helping out earlier left him with an altruistic taste in his mouth.  “You got a fire in you, don’t ya?”

Mai studied his face, searching for the lie, the familiar twinge of mockery that she had seen so often before. But she couldn’t find it.

“I can tell,” he continued, staring back at her. “You’re like...a warm light. It’s nice. You don’t see many of those in this godforsaken place.”

Mai wasn’t sure what to say, but Gene just smiled at her again; this time, a smile meant to soothe, not entice. 

Mai found herself smiling back. 

“A warm light with a mean right hook,” he added, pressing a finger to his tender lip.  “Well, you’ve got a pretty smile and you sure don’t seem shy. You ever think about waitressing instead?”

“Waitressing?” 

“Yeah.”

“Hey,” a new voice called with the sound of the swinging door. 

Gene’s smile, the dazzling one, was back again. And aimed at the young man who was coming over to join them. He had a fedora on, but his grey trousers and periwinkle shirt were too light to be the brother from the alley.

“I was looking for you.” His voice was serious, but his eyes were bright beneath his glasses as he approached. 

“I’m sorry, I had a bit of a holdup,” Gene told him. “Yasuhara, this is Mai.”

“I can see that,” Yasuhara smiled, taking his hat in his hand, “and it’s nice to meet you, Mai.”

“Nice to meet you, Yasuhara.” 

“Sorry to cut your evening short, but I’m afraid it’s my job to make sure this guy gets back to work.”

“Oh.” Mai’s eyes went wide.  It had never occurred to her that someone might have somewhere to be this late at night. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I was keeping you.”

Gene let out an exaggerated sigh.  “Sorry about this, Mai, but when the boss man says it’s time to go, it’s time to go.”

She shook her head.  “It’s no problem. Thank you so much for your help tonight.”

“Oh yeah, hey, Monk!” Gene called out to the man behind the counter with a wave.

The man known as ‘Monk’ grabbed the coffee pot from its heater and headed over. 

“Monk!  How’s my favorite joe slinger?” Yasuhara said, the smile on his face reflected in his voice.

“Top off?” Monk asked, ignoring the smirking man next to him and reaching for Gene’s mug.

“No thanks,” Gene said.  “Hey, didn’t you say you were losing one of your girls?”

“I did,” he replied, “Taka is going to be moving out of town next week. I’ll have to put a sign up.”

“No need,” Gene told him. “Mai here is the best girl in the biz.” Gene gestured towards her as he smiled at Monk.

Mai’s eyes widened. What was he doing? She hadn’t even said…

Monk’s attention turned to Mai, who only gaped in return. 

“You ever serve before?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I, umm, I did, I mean, I have in a cafeteria. I helped.”

“See, what did I say, she’s old hat.” Gene slid out of the booth seat and placed some coins near his mug. “I’ll let you two hash out the details. I’ll see you around, Mai. Thanks, Monk.”

“Bye, Monk. Miss Mai,” Yasuhara said with a tip of his hat, before following Gene out the door. 

“Tomorrow, 4 PM sharp,” Monk said, walking back over to the counter. “Shift runs from four to midnight and then there is close up time. I pay on Fridays, we’re closed Sundays.”

Mai blinked at the man.

“Are you, do you mean? Are you offering me the job?”

“Don’t you want it?” 

“I do!”  Mai jumped up from her seat.

“Good.”  Monk thought for a moment.  “If you wanna help me out with the close up tonight, maybe we can find you a uniform before we’re done.”

 

**Gene already had** his flask out and was drinking by the time Yasuhara caught up to him. 

“Sorry,” Gene said offhandedly. “I didn’t mean to upset my keeper.”

Yasuhara sighed, “I’m just here to make sure you come back after these dinners.”

Gene took another swig.

“It won’t be forever,” Yasuhara said. “You know how this works.”

“I do.” Gene tilted his head back for a long draught.

“Look,” Yasuhara said, stopping Gene’s stride and drinking with a hand on his shoulder. “The boss is grateful for what you did.  If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t—” Gene looked at Yasuhara’s hand and then up at him. 

Yasuhara pulled his hand from Gene. He didn’t think Gene was dumb enough to threaten the gift that had been extended to him. But this was one of the Griffith Ghosts, Delany’s mad cat, and if he kept drinking like that in the mood he was in... Yasuhara wrapped his fingers around the small switchblade in his pocket.

Gene poked at his swelling lip with his tongue. “You ain’t gotta come get me, I know my way back.” 

“It’s safer if I—” 

“Worried?” Gene took another drink from his flask and screwed the lid back on. “I’m touched.”

Yasuhara let his fingers loosen around his knife. “By the looks of your face, I was right to be.”

“This?” Gene leaned closer, his tongue once more pressing into the bruised flesh of his lip.

Yasuhara swallowed.  He could smell the moonshine on Gene’s breath and it was making his head spin. 

“I got sucker punched, it’s no big deal.” 

“Who was it?” 

Gene smiled, the surliness of earlier replaced with a bemused glee.  “Mai.” 

“The girl at the diner?” Yasuhara blinked.  “She hits you, and you buy her pie?” 

Gene’s grin widened, a quick grimace flashing at the stretch of his injured lips.

Yasuhara shook his head. “Come on, I need to get you back, or it will be both our asses.”

They continued walking, Yasuhara pretending not to notice the side glances that Gene gave him between sips of his flask, or the insistent fluttering effect that Gene’s continued attention to his swollen lip was having on his stomach. 

He understood now...

Agreeing to watch over him had been a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this all started a year ago when I was watching the anime 91 Days, and suddenly had the urge to make a Ghost Hunt Irish Mob AU. I admit, my main motivation was to put the twins in some dashing suits. But I had also always wanted to write a historical AU, though I was too nervous to actually do it. So I really have to thank Tiffo for collaborating with me, otherwise this story would probably never have come to fruition. Also thanks to Snavej, for helping brainstorm ideas with us in the beginning.
> 
> And thank you, reader, for checking out this story! We hope you all enj


	2. Chapter 2

## Chapter 2

  


**“Mai, can you** get the refill at the end?”

Mai looked at the far end of the counter where Monk was pointing. How could he tell it was empty from the kitchen window?

Tuft’s Diner wasn’t large. A repurposed boxcar with an attached section for the kitchen and restroom along the side, Mai could see the twelve counter stools and six booths that made up her new domain from nearly anywhere she stood. But in the week she had been working there, she had yet to learn Monk’s seemingly supernatural ability to sense an empty coffee cup.

Picking up the carafe, she gave it a quick shake to determine its contents and hurried down the row, eyeing all of the mugs as she made her way to the end. Two empty and three only half full. Mai set to filling them, asking if anything else was needed as she passed back by.

“Hey doll, where’s my rhubarb pie?” one of the men asked as she finished.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I’ll have it right for you.”

It had been a busy night, or at least it seemed that way to Mai. There was an empty seat here or there, but to Mai, the nineteen people felt like a hundred.  Head spinning, she found the pie. The knife shook in her hand as she sized up the piece to cut. Mai took a deep breath and bit her lip until her arm learned to behave itself.

“Oh, not that much, not for Frank, he’s an asshole,” Taka whispered to Mai, wiping her hands on her apron. Taka was less than a year older than Mai, but she had been waitressing at Tufts since Monk opened the place nearly three years ago, when she was sixteen. Taka even boasted that she had taught him some of her mother’s pie recipes to help make the place the hit it was now.

Mai moved the knife, slimming the width of the slice.

“Yeah, that’s better,” Taka said, handing her a small plate once she had finished cutting. “Now, don’t take no guff from him when you bring this over.”

Mai nodded, taking a deep breath.

“You’re doing a great job. You just have to work on being a little more forceful.”

“Another cup over here, Taka,” one of the men called out.

“Hold your horses, Pat, I’m coming.”

A great job?  Mai wasn’t sure she could agree. Taka seemed to know everyone here; she was practically preparing their orders by the time they had made it to their seats. Mai had started to recognize faces of some of the ‘regulars,’ but she was still waiting for Monk to realize his mistake and recall his decision to offer her the job.

That was another problem, why had he given her this job? Who was Gene, and why did his opinion hold so much sway with the older man? She couldn’t bring herself to ask, she was too worried it would give away just how loose her connection to him truly was. If his word had been what got her the job, admitting she really had no idea who he was was probably not the best way to keep it.

“Here you are,” Mai said, placing the pie on the table.

“What, no cream?” he grumbled.

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

“Maybe you make it up to me.”

Mai wasn’t sure what to say.  She just stood there, eyes wide.

“Don’t start on her, Frank,” Taka said, waving the coffee carafe at him. “I don’t wanna kick you out on my last night.”

“I wasn’t starting nothing.”

“Eat your pie.” Taka pulled Mai back near the kitchen window.

“Now,” Taka started, pouring herself a cup of coffee and leaning against the counter, “when it comes to dealing with a lot of these guys, Mai, you have to be firm. You can’t let them think they can walk all over you or they will.”

Mai nodded again, straightening the line of coffee cups on the counter waiting to be put to use.

“Think you can do that?”

“Yes, I just don’t want to be rude.” Mai moved a cup up to the front to fill in the space Taka’s cup had just emptied. Nineteen mugs, tricky for keeping nice rows.

“Why? They were rude first.”

“I suppose…”

“Have a quick cup, it will help get your nerves back. We’ve nearly made it through the night.”

“Yes, only an hour and a half till close,” Mai said, pouring herself a cup and fixing the mugs into three neat rows of six. Much better.

“Is it?” Taka’s head lifted at the sound of the door opening, the smile falling from her face. “Well, shit.”

“What?” Mai asked, looking up from her own mug. She followed Taka’s gaze to the booth in the back corner, where a man was hanging his black fedora on the hat rack attached to the seat.

“Why did he have to be first? Couldn’t be the other one, just my luck.” Taka took a big swig of her coffee.

The man sat down in the seat and now in profile, Mai recognized Gene’s dark hair and blue eyes. She had hoped he would be back soon. Mai smiled as she drank from her cup. Taka was right, this did help.

“Oh, I know him,” Mai said, finishing a sip.

“You...what?” Taka looked back incredulously.

Mai had an idea.  Gene wouldn’t bark at her or make her nervous...well, not for the same reasons the others did.  If she helped him, maybe she could get a fresh start on the evening.

“I can get the table,” Mai said, running quick fingers through her hair and adjusting the pin on her cap.

“Mai, I’m not sure—”

“I can do it.  I wanted to thank him anyway.”

“Alright then, be my guest,” Taka said, stepping out of Mai’s way and then whispering, “Good luck.”

Mai straightened her apron and walked over to the booth.  “Hello, again,” she said with a smile, pouring coffee into the mug on the table.

He looked up at her and Mai stared, the smile replaced with confusion. He looked like Gene, but something was off. Though the face looked the same, the smile wasn’t there and the cold lack of recognition in his eyes left her frozen in place. Could it be someone else?

His suit was all black, the cut nicer than the one Gene had been wearing the last time she saw him. And she didn’t recall him wearing gloves before. Maybe it wasn’t him.

He lowered his gaze and Mai nearly jumped out of her skin as she noticed his attention on the now overflowing coffee cup.

“Oh no!” Mai grabbed at the napkin, blocking the flow before it could make it to the edge of the table. She glanced back, hoping to see that smile snap back into place anytime now as he recognized her.  “I’m so sorry.”

The man didn’t reply as Mai mopped at the coffee covered table top. Had she done something to offend him? He was hardly even acknowledging her presence.

“Let me just get you some more napkins,” Mai told him, taking the dripping evidence of her latest mistake with her.

“Tea.”

Mai turned back.  Had he just said something?

“Excuse me?”

“Tea,” he repeated a little louder.

Mai blinked.  Tea?

He looked at her then back to his mug.

“Hi, Mai!”

Mai jumped, coffee covered napkins falling back on the table and showering them all in splatters.

“Rough night again?” Gene asked, standing next to her with a familiar grin in place.

“Gene. You’re you.”

“Yes, most days anyway. I see you got the job. Damn, you beat me here again, Noll.”

Noll? Mai looked back at the now coffee-speckled face of the other man.

“Mai, you remember my brother, Oliver, from last week?” Gene continued, oblivious to the mess that covered the three of them.

“Oliver?” So, this was his brother. Of course, he had to be, they were identical. She had never met identical twins before.  “Oh, thank you,” Mai said with a smile, “for your help last week.”

Oliver blinked and wiped at the coffee on his face.

“Oh, here, I’m sorry again.”  Mai pulled her pocket square from her dress and held it out to him. The coffee stains would be hard to get back out, but to be fair, the man had saved her from an attacker. So, she was willing to take the loss of a handkerchief to try to make up for her continued inconveniencing.  

Oliver eyed the proffered cloth askance. Mai could feel her gratitude fading. She had said she was sorry, and now he was eyeing her help like it had the flu.

“It’s clean, I promise,” Mai said, extending it closer. Oliver pulled back a bit, his glare moving from the cloth to her and back again.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Mai,” Gene told her.

“No, really.” Mai narrowed her eyes.  “I _insist_.”

But Oliver still did not budge.

Gene glanced between the two of them before grabbing the cloth himself.  “Thanks!” He slid into the seat across from his brother.

Mai glared at Oliver. Did he find her so offensive that he couldn’t accept a simple gesture of goodwill?

“Oh, is that coffee?” Gene asked, taking Oliver’s overfull mug in his hands. “Great.  Noll, you want some tea, right?”

“Yes, he mentioned that.”

Gene choked lightly on his sip of coffee.

“Did he?” Gene smirked at his brother. “Well, I’ll have the roast beef, Mai.  Noll, did you already tell Mai your order?”

Oliver glared at him, but Gene only sat back in his seat, self-satisfied smirk growing larger.

“Pot pie,” Oliver said.

“We don’t have a pot pie,” Mai told him.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, we don’t.” Mai pulled one of the coffee-speckled menus from the holder by the window and placed it in front of him. “I am afraid you may have us confused with somewhere else. We don’t have a pot pie.”

Mai stared at Oliver who refused to even look at the menu.

“I always have the pot pie.”

“But, there isn’t—”

“Good evening, Gene,” Taka said with a smile, placing a plate of roast beef on the table in front of him.

“Taka!” Gene beamed.

“And the pie.  Careful, it’s just from the oven.” Taka placed a plate with a small pastry-covered ramekin on it in front of Oliver.

Oliver looked down at his food and then turned back to Mai. He wasn’t smirking, but Mai could feel the smugness just rolling off of him.

She clenched the napkins in her fist, a stream of lukewarm coffee splashing against her foot.

“If you need anything else, just let Mai or I know,” Taka said, tugging gently on Mai’s arm for her to follow her.

“Mai.”  His voice slid like ice down her back and she bristled.

“Yes?” she asked, forcing a smile as she looked back at him.

“Tea.”

She stormed back toward the kitchen, Taka right on her heels.  “What is his problem?” Mai seethed, tossing the soggy napkins in the trash.  “Ugh, where’s the tea?”

“Over here, Mai.”  Taka held out the tea tin, giving it a little shake.

“And why does he get pot pie? I thought we didn’t have a pot pie!” Mai filled the infuser and dropped it in the mug.

“We don’t,” Taka said with a smirk, obviously amused. “But he asked for one and we weren’t about to say no.”

“Wow.  Really?”  First Gene, and now this guy. Just how important were they?

“Hey, Mai,” Taka looked at the twins’ table before pulling Mai closer to her.  “How well do you know those guys?”

Mai looked up from pouring the water, biting her lip.  Taka was leaving after today. Maybe if she told her, it wouldn’t risk her job as much.

“They’re the ones who helped me last week.”

“Them?” Taka asked, disbelieving.

“Yes, Gene brought me here after everything.  He even spoke to Monk about me getting the job here.”

“I can’t tell if you’re lucky or unlucky…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know the details. But…word gets around.” Taka looked up, chewing on her lip. Monk was busy in the kitchen and the twins were focused on their meals, but she lowered her voice anyway.   “Be careful. Just because Gene looks and acts like Prince Charming doesn’t mean he is.”

“Hmm.”  Mai glanced back at him. Gene did like to flirt. A serial heartbreaker, maybe? Taka was probably worried she would be taken in.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take no guff. Just like you said.” Mai smiled at Taka. “Besides, maybe he just feels like he has to make up for the rudeness of his brother.”

Taka grinned, but there was a strain to it.

Monk called out an order.

“Just keep your distance, if you can,” Taka said, before heading towards the window.

Mai couldn’t help but feel the disdain in that statement. She looked over at Gene again who, noticing her glance, sent her another smile, complete with a small wave. Mai smiled back, but from the corner of her eye she could see Taka’s face darken. Could Taka be jealous? Gene had been friendly to Taka when she had been at the table, but maybe she was mad that Mai would get just as much attention, being new.

Mai straightened her back. Well, it was Taka’s last night, so it wasn’t like they would have to fight over them as customers.

Mai grabbed the steeped tea and, removing the infuser, brought it over to the table.

“Here you go, uh,” she turned to Gene, “what did you call him?  Noll, was it?”

“That’s just my nickname for him.  He also goes by Jolly Ollie.”

Oliver leveled a glare at him, but Gene just smiled all the more.

Mai allowed herself a smirk at his expense. She had a strong feeling this was a common interaction between the two of them. And the sense of normalcy smoothed out any remaining nerves she had.

“I don’t think he likes that.”

Gene leaned in, covering his mouth with a hand. “I know.  He offed the last guy who used it.” He gave his eyebrows a wiggle for emphasis.

She giggled. The over exaggeration felt as if it fit the uptight man perfectly.

“I think I will stick with Oliver then,” she teased. “Wouldn’t want to put myself at risk.”

“Risk, you? Never. With those iron mitts of yours? That reminds me, you punch any more unsuspecting victims in dark alleys?”

“Oh, no, I am steering clear of alleys for the moment.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Mai chewed her lip.  That reminded her...

“Yeah, I got kinda spooked the other day when I was coming into work. That guy who tried to rob me, I saw him in the alley again.  He looked right at me as I walked by.”

Gene’s eyes went wide.

“But he didn’t do anything!” Mai added quickly, hoping to soothe his reaction.  “He didn’t even come out of the alley.”

Gene thought for a moment, his eyes downcast as he took in the information.

“Monk walked me home that night. He said he wanted to get a look at the guy, only he wasn’t there when we went by again. But you don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

“Well then,” Gene had his manufactured smile back on, “all’s well that ends well, I guess.”

“Yeah, like you said. I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Gene replied.

Mai smiled and headed back to her duties.

 

 **Gene** **looked back** down at his half-eaten dinner, his appetite waning. He glanced up at Oliver who had continued to eat, seemingly unaware of the conversation that had just taken place around him.

Gene opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head, and picked up his fork. He was cutting his next bite when he dropped the utensils.

 _What, Gene?_ Oliver asked over the link they had shared since before he could remember.

_What does she mean she saw him?_

Oliver didn’t respond and took a sip from his steaming tea.

_Noll, I thought you said you would take care of him._

_I took care of it,_ Oliver confirmed, breaking away more of the crust atop his dinner.

 _Well then, who the hell did that dame see in the alley?_ Gene returned to cutting his meat, remembering the eyes that littered the room.

_She must have been confused._

Gene nodded and they went back to eating in silence. Mai was cute and sweet, but she still seemed to be rather flustered by city living.

“So, do you come here often?” Mai asked when she stopped by to refill Gene’s coffee. Her return to their table deepened Oliver’s scowl.

“Just once a week,” Gene answered, handing her the cup.  “It’s the only time we really get to see each other these days.”

“Oh, you two don’t live together?”

“Used to.  We used to work together too.  But a man’s gotta branch out on his own after a while.  Can’t be minding my brother forever.” Gene gave a wink.

Mai smiled and pushed the now full cup back towards him  “You must be good friends with Monk, then.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t say we’re _close_.”

“But then why did…”

“Don’t you have other customers to attend to?” Oliver muttered, putting another bite in his mouth as he stared her down.

Mai glowered back for a moment before, with one more smile at Gene, heading back towards the kitchen.

 _What’cha do that for?_ Gene said. _You didn’t have to be so mean._

_You talk too much._

Gene pushed his finished plate away and leaned back in his seat, his mug clutched in his fingers.

_Aww, come on, who's she gonna talk to? I like her._

_That much is obvious, even to me._

Gene’s amusement fell from his face. _I can’t help it if I’m a friendly fella._

Oliver stared at him.  Gene could feel the disapproval rolling off his brother.

 _We can’t all be the perfect picture of a button man._ Gene crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window.

It was starting to rain, the light of the lamps reflecting off the slick ground and walls of the buildings.  The street was mostly empty this time of night, respectable folk long since gone home to their beds. One last fella was making his way down the street, a hand to his hat as he stuck close to the cover of the awnings.

In the reflection, Gene could see Oliver had returned to his food.  His fork moving up and down, chin bobbing in the same slow rhythm Gene had watched countless times. Like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed. And here they were a month later and they still hadn’t talked about it. All Oliver seemed able to do was chew. And Gene found himself looking for anything to keep from bringing it up.

It was infuriating.

Gene glared at the reflection, but its pace didn’t falter.  Did he expect Gene to forgive him? Because he wouldn’t, couldn’t. And he wasn’t looking to be forgiven either. So if Oliver thought he was gonna beg or grovel, he had another thing coming.

A car moved past, its headlights dispelling the reflection. In the dark, Gene could see the man outside slide further back into the alley, edging away from the spill of the headlights.

Gene sighed. “What is that Maroon doing?”

Yasuhara had his hat pulled low, but Gene had already come to recognize his uneasy stance. And the three step shuffle Yasuhara was playing with the edge of the light was making him even more noticable.

 _I gotta go._ Gene slid from the seat and took his hat from the peg.

Oliver took a sip of his tea.

 _Well, I guess I’ll be seein’ ya next week._  Gene chewed his lip. What happened when nothing came of these sham dinners? How long before Cogliano wanted to use him for more? What then? When did he lose this too?

_Noll—_

_Next week._ Oliver looked up at him. _I’ll see you next week, Gene._

Gene nodded and donned his cap, forcing a smile and a wave to Mai as he made his way out of the door. She reciprocated, and for a moment, his smile was real.

But it didn’t last. Yasuhara was still waiting in the shadows, awkwardly stepping further into the gloom as Gene stepped onto the street. Gene shook his head and pulled the flask from his pocket.

  


**Mai** **lowered her** hand and wrapped it around the coffee carafe as the sounds of the bell faded.

She had noticed the lack of pleasantries exchanged by the brothers as Gene had left. In fact, she had noticed a distinct lack of words in general. It seemed like every time she looked at the table, they were locked in silence. Gene might smile, and once or twice she had caught Oliver’s head bob, but they kept their eyes on their food or the rest of the room. Mai even had to duck behind the pie case once, worried that Oliver had caught her watching them.

It didn’t make any sense. If they only met once a week, shouldn’t they be catching up? They were family. It bothered her.  But she couldn’t put a finger on why.

Mai pushed out her brightest smile as she brought Oliver the bill.

“First to arrive and last to leave, I think there’s a proverb in that,” she tried.

Oliver took out his cigarette case.

“By the way, what did you do with that guy?  In the alley? Did you turn him into the police?”

He shrugged, lighting a cigarette.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Oliver breathed out some smoke.  “You ask too many questions.”

“Excuse me for being curious.”

He gave her a stern look.  “Curiosity killed the cat.”

She smirked.  “But satisfaction brought it back.”

He frowned, left some money on the table, and grabbed his hat on the way out.

“Hey,” Mai started, but he didn’t look back.

He hadn’t even looked at the check. She didn’t need to get in trouble because some jerk shortchanged her. But a glance down at the three dollars on the table clamped her mouth shut. That was more than a dollar tip. That was an hour’s tips in one sitting. A good hour.

Of course, she wasn’t about to complain.  But it was unexpected, to say the least. If it was Gene, she could understand.  But Oliver? She’d thought they had gotten off on entirely the wrong foot.

Mai tucked the money into her pocket and cleared the table, shaking her head.

 

 

 **Gene** **hadn’t said** anything to Yasuhara as he had passed him by, but he could hear him following as they made their way through the streets. And a glance in a darkened window showed Yasuhara not even a block away, still foolishly scampering from shadow to shadow. Gene’s step faltered as he noticed his own reflection in that same window.

It was the scowl. Even he was surprised to see it on his face, and in that split second, he had thought he was walking with Oliver again. He brought a hand to his hat to ground himself, watching the mirror do the same. His fingers ran over the damp but familiar fabric.

With a grunt, Gene moved away from the window, taking a sip every few steps as he made his way back towards the apartment. He knew the way by now, and he wasn’t even leaving late. Yasuhara had no excuse to have followed him this time. Other than the fact that he didn’t trust him. Part of Gene understood that, but a bigger, angrier part wanted to do something about it.

He walked a few streets more, then picked up his pace. Moving around the next corner, he slid into the hollow next to a fence and listened. The sound of hurried steps quickly confirmed that Yasuhara had not seen him slip away.

As he watched Yasuhara hurry past, Gene considered walking back to the apartment on his own, leaving the aggravating accountant to worry over losing him for as long as he could.

But, that didn’t quite scratch the itch. This guy hardly talked to him, he was no company at all, and he wouldn’t even trust him to come back?  He stepped out of the darkness, his steps falling in line with the light pattering of the rain.

Yasuhara was pacing at the end of the street, unable to decide which direction was the best to continue down. Gene made no move to conceal himself; he just strode up the street. But Yasuhara still jumped almost a foot in the air when he called out, “I told you, I don’t need no escort.”

Yasuhara floundered for a moment, his back straightening. “I-I thought you might want the company?” Even he looked like he didn’t believe it.

Gene took a step forward, Yasuhara mirroring him with a step backward.  

“Look, I only get this one night. I don’t go out any other time. Just like you and your boss tell me. To the diner and back. Nothin’ else. I ain’t gotta listen, but I do.”

Gene took another step closer and Yasuhara brought his hands up, empty and palms out. “I know. I just...it’s my job.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Gene said, closing the gap between them and bringing a finger to Yasuhara’s chest. Yasuhara swallowed, but he didn’t back up again.

“Swear ta God, if I wanted to leave,” Gene pressed harder, “you really think a fella like you is gonna stop me?”

Yasuhara’s face darkened, water dripping from the brim of his hat as he met Gene’s gaze for the first time. “I’ll do what I gotta.” Yasuhara balled his fists at his sides, but Gene could tell by the tension in his shoulders that it was a fight to keep them there.

Gene smiled. He had never seen Yasuhara push back on anyone.  It was thrilling. Gene found himself wondering how much more there was hidden beneath the mild exterior.  

“I’m not losing my job,” Yasuhara said. “Or my life, because you decide to skip out. I have responsibilities and I will do _whatever_ I have to do to uphold them.”

“Responsibilities?” Gene scoffed. ”You got your fancy job and your fancy place, all because you sit at some desk all day and make papers say what a mobster wants them to say. You got responsibilities?” His finger bounced against Yasuhara’s coat with the question. “I had those, and you know what the fuck they got me?”

Yasuhara didn’t answer.

“Nothin’. I ain’t got nothing. Except this. So you tell me why I would run off on ya? Where the fuck else am I gonna go?”

Gene blinked away the water that was hitting his upturned face and searched for the quiet anger in the other man’s eyes, but it was gone, replaced with a look of recognition.

“I’m sorry,” Yasuhara said, averting his eyes.

“Sorry?” Gene scowled. That wasn’t right.  The man was supposed to fight back, not back off.  “Whaddaya mean sorry? You—” Gene pushed Yasuhara back with a shove. “You best stick to your numbers pally, because you’re shit at street work.”

Gene pulled his collar higher with a shrug of his shoulders and started down the street. He could hear Yasuhara’s footsteps continue to follow, but quieter this time, further away.

A few blocks later, the rain ran itself out. The damp left the summer night with a mild haze that rolled up from beneath their feet. The sound of a horn rolled through the mist and Gene stopped.

The jazz was muffled, but not the secret sounds of a speakeasy. A small group must have been practicing in one of the apartments nearby. He scanned the upper floors, his eyes stopping on a lit window. The bright cry of the trumpet jumped excitedly over the steady thrum of the bass and drums. The heady hum of a clarinet wove through it all, trying, but failing to bring it all together.

“They aren’t so bad.” Yasuhara’s voice was quiet. “But the horn is trying too hard.”

“He’s probably the newest member. He’s still got to learn the flow of the band.”

“He’s good,” Yasuhara said, stepping up beside him. “I’m sure he’ll get the hang of it. Just so long as everyone gives him some time.”

“I used to listen to stuff like this every night.”  Gene closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him.  “Our place was connected to a speakeasy by this tunnel. We helped them keep the stock.” He smirked. “I used to sneak down to listen to the bands that came through. Eventually they stopped tossing me back up the stairs.”

Yasuhara looked over at him, an eyebrow raised.

“I was ten,” Gene chuckled.

“Ten? Damn, I thought I was up to no good sneaking to one at sixteen.”

Gene looked back. “You...you used to sneak out to a speak? But you’re a...”  The smug amusement that had formed at Gene’s question began to fall from Yasuhara’s face. “...An abercrombie. I thought breaking rules physically wounded a guy like you.”

“As you said earlier, I work for a mobster. I feel like I should be afforded some level of moral flexibility,” Yasuhara said, his tone claiming offence but the newly sprouted smile on his face labeling it a farce.

Gene considered this for a moment, and then nodded with a smile of his own. “Fair, Abercrombie, fair.” He clapped Yasuhara on the back, causing him to jump from the contact. “Let’s get the fuck out of this weather though, what do you say?”

“Sure thing, Cheshire.”

Gene’s back stiffened at the name, but he shrugged it away.

They started down the street again, walking side by side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N December 2018: If this isn’t your first time reading this chapter you may have noticed that the ending is a bit different this time around. We wanted to make sure that we were giving both halves of this story their fair shake so we wanted to add in a bit more about what life is like for Gene and Yasuhara so we know where all four of our protagonists are starting from. 
> 
> A/N Oct 2017
> 
> Hullo,  
> Tiffo here this time around. Thank you to everyone who has read so far. And special thanks to Agwen for their comment.  
> Ummm, what should I say? Sakura had a nice story about how we came up with this idea. I guess I could give my side of things. I have long been interested in organized crime and its heyday in the 20/30s. I was a criminal justice minor in college because of it and even had aspirations of working for the FBI for a while. So when I found out someone else was interested in writing a story in that time period I was ecstatic. Finally my hours of film noir watching and Jazz listening could have a home in my writing. :)  
> Is it too much of a tease of me to say that I am excited for the next chapter as we are finally getting to the dark parts. :/ We have a lot mapped out for you guys so I hope you will be willing to wait on us and stick around as we move forward.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter contains descriptions of violence. Also, we may take liberties with how some abilities work, so please do not take these depictions as being true to canon.

 

## Chapter 3

 

 **The lamps attached** to each of the warehouses left murky, but consistent, pools of light along Elkin Street. Save for one. Dorchester Shipping. There, the muddled darkness was left to grow. And any hope of appearing inconspicuous blotted out with it.

 “Is that their idea of being discreet?” Oliver looked over at his long time associate, Lin, who sighed and shrugged as they crossed the street.  A bay breeze pulled at their coats, the September chill eager to stamp out any lingering remnants of summer.

 They stopped in front of the double bay doors, their paint was beyond chipping and the handle was missing on the smaller personal entrance that was cut into the left one. Oliver shook his head at the amateur move. Flicking a finished cigarette to the ground, he gave Lin a nod to proceed.

 Lin rapped a knuckle against the chipped paint of the smaller door and it cracked open. They waited a moment, but no one appeared in the small opening.

Lin cleared his throat. “I’m a representative of Mr. Delaney and I need to speak to Mr. Vincent.”

“He’s not here,” a voice said from inside the gloom as the door began to shut.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me.” Lin stopped the closing door with his palm and pushed, sliding it further open. “We are here to speak to Mr. Vincent,” Lin said, stepping into the warehouse, his hat only just missing brushing the top of the doorframe.

“Hey!” The man jumped back from the door, a revolver in his hand. “Grab some air.”  

Lin raised his arms. “Feel free to check, my companion and I are unarmed.”

“Hands to your head.”

The man looked Lin over, giving him a light pat down, gun still outstretched.

“Now if you would take us to Mr. Vincent,” Lin said, straightening his jacket as the man finished his inspection of Oliver.

The man motioned them forward with his revolver. “Thatta way.”

As they entered, Oliver scanned the room.  The warehouse was full of various crates of produce, dyes, and textiles. Oliver knew that most of them also had false bottoms, in which bottles of rum and whiskey could be stored for safe shipment past prying eyes. But the large still that sat half covered in the back suggested Dorchester wasn’t just interested in running liquor.

“Mike!  We got visitors!” the man behind them said, as a group of three men sitting around some crates playing cards came into view.

One of them, presumably the boss, stood as they approached.  “Who the hell are youse?”

“Says they work for Delaney. I checked ‘em, they ain’t packin’.”

Mike looked them over with a dubious eye.  “...Is that right?” He glanced back at his other men, who all stood and came to flank him.

“Mr. Vincent, my name is Lin. I have come today because my associates discovered that your last shipment was lighter upon delivery than what had been previously arranged.”

Straight to the point, not even an attempt to ease them into it.  Oliver held back a sigh and reached his hand into his pocket, fingering the round object within. This was likely to go south quickly.

Mike scoffed.  “Look, I’m a busy man, with lots of customers, sometimes confusion happens. Loss is just a part of business.”

“That may be the case in New York, Mr. Vincent, but I can assure you that Mr. Delaney is not used to such inventory control issues here in Boston.”

“Well, as you can see, we’re a bit understaffed at the moment, so maybe he best make himself used to it,” Mike said, crossing his arms. Behind him, his goons brought their hands to their revolvers, their faces hard.

Oliver looked over at Lin, but he shook his head.  Not yet. So Oliver waited. He owed it to Lin to give him time. The rules had changed since the last time they had done this.

“Mr. Delaney recognizes the years of quality service we received from your brother. And sends his condolences on your family’s recent loss. But standards must be met.”

“Ain’t that considerate of ‘im,” Mike sneered. “Maybe if he had been that considerate before, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Frustrated, Oliver pulled his cigarette case from his pocket, flipped it open, and grabbed a fresh stick.  He knew that he was in no place to judge Lin’s attempt. But he had watched Gene work a room enough times to know what was supposed to happen.

Before, Gene would have taken the lead; striding in with natural charm and swagger, he’d proven to be quite convincing, despite his age.  And Lin had been a great compliment to Gene, his straightman filling in the facts and providing Gene material to play off of. But alone, Lin was stiff, serious, and didn’t make for a real substitute, not if they wanted to end things peaceably.

“When can we expect the rest of his order, Mr. Vincent?”

Mike moved his hands to his hips, his face shifting to a smug grin. “Well see, that’s gonna be a bit of a delay there. As it turns out, we are all out at the moment.”

“Mr. Delaney will be disappointed to hear that.”

That was the signal, this farce was over.  It was Oliver’s turn now. The cigarette case snapped shut with a crack that caught the attention of the man to Mike’s left.  The man instantly paled.

“Look, I don’t particularly care what will and won’t disappoint Mr. Delaney,” Mike said.

Cigarette between his lips, Oliver next pulled a marble from his pocket and spun it between his fingers, the white and green swirls of the small glass orb shining bright against the black leather of his gloves.  Four men in the room. More than he’d planned for, but surely he could handle it. If not, he would be meeting Gene at the diner tomorrow.

“So you can tell Delaney that if he has a problem, he can come and talk to me himself,” Mike said, waving off the pale man reaching for his arm.  “I’m not here to talk to kids and Chin— for god’s sake, Joey. What?”

Oliver grimaced, the marble falling still in his fingers.  Going to the diner also meant seeing that waitress and her stupid smile. She would probably try to talk to him again. The marble began to hover just above his fingertips, shuddering slightly as it waited to be released.

“That guy, boss.  I think he’s—”

“Balor,” Lin said.

The marble shot out from Oliver’s hand, little more than a blur.

Joey turned from his boss, the recognition of his fate dawning just as a white spot burrowed a dark hole between his eyes. Red blossoming out the back of his head, splattering the other men as he fell towards the ground.

The other guard made to pull his weapon, but the marble curved on its path through the air and passed through his skull before the gun cleared its holster.

Oliver clicked his tongue.  When would the girl learn to just bring the food and leave them alone?

The man who had led them into the room was screaming. Oliver redirected the marble, flying it into his open mouth and up. The screams cut off into silence.

He couldn’t fathom her persistence. The girl must be daft.

“Jesus!”  Mike was bent nearly double, his eyes flicking between his fallen men all around him.  His hands shook as he swatted at the blood on his arms and face.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Mike fell to his knees, small splashes rippling across the dark pools that surrounded him. “What...what did you do?” He looked at Oliver, horror and confusion leaving his eyes wide and wet. “What _are_ you?”

Oliver said nothing.  He knew that look well.  It was as familiar as the iron stench in the air. Instead, he headed over to the corpse of the man who had led them in and held his hand out for his marble, dark red streaks sliding easily from its smooth contours as it floated up from its damp home and came to rest in his palm once more.

“Mr. Vincent.”  Lin’s voice was even, grounding.

Mike snapped out of his daze.  “L-look, you want booze? You can have it! As much as you want.  My business is happy to give you whatever you need. Just don’t—” Mike scrambled back, red flows splattering as Oliver came to stand next to Lin.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Vincent,” Lin said, striking a match and holding it out for Oliver to light his cigarette on. “But I don’t think you own a business any longer.”

Oliver leaned forward and took a deep breath. The weight that had been creeping over his shoulders slid away with his exhale. The fatigue was already pricking at his temple. Three at once.  That had strained him more than expected.

Mike’s mouth jerked open and closed for a moment, then, “W-wait!  I can help you!”

“Goodbye,” Lin waved the match out, “Mr. Vincent.”

Oliver raised his hand, the marble hovering over the gloved open palm.

“The Italians! I know where they bring their shipments in!” Mike shrunk in on himself, his voice high and fast as he grappled for a hope of survival.

Lin raised a hand and Oliver lowered his. Mike peeked open an eye.

“I-I just got a batch in from them.” He pointed with a shaky hand at the crates behind Lin, his breath coming in short pants. “Those canned tomatoes.”

Lin walked over to the crates.  The lid was loose on one so he opened it, and there, under two layers of cans, was a bottle of rum. “Balor, here.”

Oliver dropped the marble back into his pocket. He pulled the glove off his left hand, took hold of the bottle, and let his eyes slide shut.

He saw a lighthouse, white with two red stripes banded near the top, visible from the deck of a ship. They were anchored just far enough out that the sweep of the light never reached them. Another ship approached, appearing almost too close in the dark, only one lamp visible on its own deck.

“—show you where they come in,” Mike finished, as Oliver opened his eyes.

Lin looked to Oliver, who nodded in confirmation. The slight movement left his head heavy and the room unsteady beneath his feet.  He brought his uncovered hand to his temple, squeezing it against the weight inside his skull. It wouldn't be like this if Gene were still here. They had been unstoppable, together.

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Vincent.”

“Wha-whaddya mean?” Mike asked.

“Balor,” Lin called.

“No, please!”

Oliver blinked back the dizziness and held up the marble once again. Glancing to his side, he could almost see Gene there, his eyes bright in the dark, that wicked grin on his face as he overlooked the carnage.   _‘Nothing personal,’_ he would say.

“It’s just business,” Oliver muttered.  The marble flew from his fingers.

 

 **The angry clack** of a typewriter echoed down the main hall of Everett Vale Grammar School at a steady clip, drowning out the sound of Mai’s footsteps. The air inside was warm, with the musky scent of an until recently closed off space.  Dust motes fluttered in every shaft of light, airy reminders of the golden fall which was rapidly approaching.

Mai paused in front of the office to take a deep breath, hoping to calm her nerves.  She had to look confident if she wanted to make a good impression. And now that she had come this far, she couldn’t turn back.

“Mai.”

She turned at the soft voice.  At the end of the hall, Mai could see a small girl, half hidden behind the door frame.

“Hello,” Mai smiled.

The girl smiled back, a small hand held out as she lingered in the shadow of the door.

Mai took a step forward. “Do you need help, sweetie?”

“Come.” The fingers on the small hand waved her closer. “I want to show you something.”

“What is it?”

Mai’s fingers stretched ahead of her.

“Miss?”

Mai blinked, her head turning to see a young man in work overalls headed towards her down the long hall.

“Did you need help finding somethin’, Miss?”

Mai looked back at her hand.  Why had she come this way? She pulled a smile back onto her face. “I was looking for the main office.”  

“Oh, you must’a missed it.” The man pointed back across a length of hall that Mai had no recollection of crossing.  Sheepishly, she followed him back to the office at the other end.

The young man rapped a knuckle on the frosted glass of the upper door.

“Mrs. Cole? I got a young lady, what’s here to see you.”

Mrs. Cole, a severe-looking elderly woman in a dark formless dress, grimaced and looked up from the typewriter, the keys sounding their sharp clicks as she continued to depress them.

“This is Miss, umm—”

“Taniyama,” Mai supplied, stepping forward with a bright smile that she felt could rival Gene’s.  She held her hand out. “I’m Mai Taniyama, I’m here to inquire after a teaching position at your school.”

Mrs. Cole looked at the hand, but did not take it. Her narrowed gray eyes flicked up to look at Mai over her glasses, the skin of her forehead pulling against the tight grey bun to furrow with wrinkles.  

The man gave one last look of apology and slipped back out of the door.

“How old are you?” Mrs. Cole pushed her glasses up.

“Eighteen.” Mai lowered her hand.  “But I already have some experience in tutoring children and adults,” she added in a rush.

“You don’t say.  Do you have a copy of your qualifications?”

Mai scrambled to open her bag, holding it against herself with one arm and praying that the trembling of her fingers wasn’t visible. Mai could feel Mrs. Cole’s eyes bore into her as she fumbled with the buckle. She passed the handwritten sheet over, immediately noticing the crease that ran across the paper.

Mai could feel her heartbeat rising. Her breaths growing shorter. She _had_ to focus on something else. Three pens, there were three pens on the desk.

“Where did you go to school? I don’t see that listed here.”

“I was privately tutored.” Mai chewed on her lip. Five pins in her hair.

“Do you have a letter of recommendation from your tutor to attest to your scholarship?”

“Uh, no.” Mai ran a finger over the buckle of her bag. She had ten, no, nine copies of her papers in her bag.

“And why not?”

Mrs. Cole stood from her desk when Mai didn’t answer. Mai counted six ivory buttons marching up the front of her gown as she tried to speak past the lump in her throat.

“I suggest you request a letter of support from your tutor if you wish to continue in this attempt.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. My Mo—” Mai took a deep breath. “My...tutor has passed away.”

“That is unfortunate to hear,” Mrs. Cole said, so automatically that Mai had to squeeze her fists against the flare of anger that rose up.  Clearly, the only thing Mrs. Cole found unfortunate was having to continue this conversation.

“I do have a recommendation from the priest at the hospital. And I could ask some of the nurses if you need more.”

“Hospital?” Mrs. Cole looked at the paper once more, her face twisting in a way that reminded Mai of Oliver’s when she had held her pocket square out to him.

Her heart sank to see that look of disdain, but she fought it, anger-fueled resilience pulling her shoulders back. If Mrs. Cole thought she was going to intimidate her with that look, she had another thing coming. Mai hadn’t spent the last five weeks trying to get Oliver to open up to be dissuaded by such a pale comparison of a scowl.

“Yes, I helped tutor the children and some of the adults as well. We worked on both reading and writing comprehension.”  

“How is it you came to be employed in such a place?”

“I wasn’t an employee, I… volunteered,” Mai said, standing a little straighter. That was true, the nurses had asked her if she wanted to tutor and she had jumped at the chance.

“Volunteered?” Mrs. Cole didn’t seem to know how to take in this information. Her wrinkles deepened as she stared at Mai, lips pursed.

Mai could see now that she had been wrong.  Mrs. Cole’s scowl didn’t remind her of Oliver at all. Oliver used his scowls the same way Gene used his smiles; to keep others at arm’s length. And it only made Mai want to learn more about them. Not Mrs. Cole though, her sour face seemed void underneath. There was nothing to learn, just a pompous revulsion that promised nothing more than continued poor treatment.

“I don’t think we are in need of any additional help at this time.” Mrs. Cole held the sheet back out towards Mai. “Please shut the door on your way out.” She sat back down, the clacking of the keys sealing Mai’s dismissal.

Mai put away the paper and buckled her bag.

“Have a nice day,” she said, pulling the door closed behind her. The typewriter keys continued as she made her way out of the school.

Mai sent one last smile to the young man from before as she slipped past him and headed up the street at a quick pace, hand holding her hat against a breeze that seemed to want to whisper in her ear.

The clock tower at the end of the street began to chime and Mai stopped, letting each of the eleven rings wash away the previous hour. She sighed, wondering if she should try to take a nap before work. She needed to refresh if she was going to make any progress on getting Oliver to talk to her tonight.

 

 **“Thank you so** much! Have a great night!” Mai called out from the counter as she wrapped a set of silverware.

“Mai, do you have to _yell_ your goodbyes to every goddamned customer that comes in here?” asked Ayako, the diner’s only female regular. She had her head on the counter, but with her pearls and pinned hat, it didn’t look very comfortable.

“Ayako, do you have a headache _again_?”

“I have a delicate condition,” Ayako muttered.

“Yeah, and it’s called a gin rickey,” Monk said as he brought a cup of coffee to the ailing woman.

Mai’s mouth fell open.  “You can’t mean she has a...” Mai checked to make sure no one was looking and lowered her voice anyway. “A hangover?”

Monk and Ayako laughed, the latter grabbing at her head in regret as she did so.

“Yes, Mai,” Monk said.  “That is what happens when you drink too much, and it must have been a helluva lot to get _her_ like this. I’ve seen her down drinks like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Hey,” Ayako said, though not bothering to raise her head. “It’s not my fault if I know how to have a good time.”

“Says the woman who still has a hangover at eight the following night.”

“Like you’re one to talk!  Need I remind you about the new shoes you still owe me?”

“What’s that you say?” Monk raised his voice, leaving Ayako cringing.

Mai shushed them, her eyes landing on the man sitting in the booth near the door. “You better be careful, or that cop might overhear.”

“Who, that guy?” Monk tilted his head in the booth’s direction. “He’s not a Prohi.  He came in asking questions a while back, told me he’s a homicide detective.”

“But he could tell someone.”

Ayako waved her hand dismissively.  “Some laws are made to be broken. Besides, people need a drink if they’re going to listen to him play.”

“Play?” Mai looked back at Monk.

“I play in a band at a speak, any night I’m not here and sometimes after we close up. The diner’s my side gig, really. Keeps me legit.” He gave Mai a wink.

“That won’t save you if they catch you in a raid,” Ayako said.

“If they get me, at least I know I’ll have you to keep me company in jail.” Monk leaned against the counter with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Not likely, you know my father would never allow that.”

Ayako’s father owned a large private hospital in North Boston and having the bulk of their family funds tied up in that had saved them from the crash last fall. According to Monk, she was a pretentious heiress who only cared about herself and securing a rich husband.

Mai liked her though.  With her beautiful clothes and a mouth that could put any of the men in this place to shame, Ayako had a sense of importance and control that Mai envied. And she had always treated her kindly. Besides, being on a husband hunt didn’t explain why she would spend her days recovering from a good night out in a boxcar diner like theirs. She wasn’t likely to land a rich husband anywhere near here.

Monk scoffed. “Guess I know who I can throw in front of me so I can get away, then.”

Ayako gave him a dark look in return.

“Please, Monk, you can’t go to jail!” Mai said, drawing their attention back to her. “I _need_ this job and I don’t have the funds to bail you out!”

Monk smiled.  “Don’t you worry, kid. I ain’t going nowhere.”

“Speaking of jobs, weren’t you going to stop by that school today?” Ayako asked.

“Oh.” Mai began wiping at an invisible spot on the counter. “I don’t think it worked out.”

“What school was it? I should go talk to them. They are clearly idiots,” Monk said.

At first, Mai had been nervous about telling Monk she wanted to be a teacher. She didn’t want him to worry about her leaving until she had something lined up, and he really did seem overprotective of her despite the short time they had known each other.  But no sooner had he found out than he’d slid firmly into supporting her.

“Thank you, but I don’t think there is anything you could say that would help.”

“Don’t worry, Mai.” Ayako wrapped a hand around Mai’s. “There’s always next time.”

“It’s fine.” Mai nodded and gave what she hoped passed for a small smile. She really didn’t want them to worry. She was just starting out, she knew there would be more opportunities. “I didn’t want to work there anyway, the secretary was terrible. Besides, I like it here and Monk would be lost without me.”

“You’re like family, kid.” Monk gave her head an affectionate rub before heading back to the kitchen.

Mai got back to wrapping the silverware, a real smile replacing the fake she had been forcing. He was right, Tufts did feel like home. It was strange to think about how nervous she had been when she started. Looking back, she wasn’t sure what she had been so afraid of. The work was exhausting, the hours long, the pay little, but she far preferred it over the factory job.  Despite the circumstances that led to her employment, Tufts actually was in a nicer area of town, and closer to her flat.

But the best part, the part she hadn’t even known how much she needed, was talking with the customers.  The factory hadn’t provided much in terms of human interaction, and now she realized that she had been starved for it.

It wasn’t all great.  Some customers were very rude, and liked to take their frustrations out on her.  They tended to tip very little, or not at all, no matter how hard she tried to please them.  She concluded that they must be against the very concept of waitressing, which she couldn’t do much about.

But on the whole, she loved talking to people.  Greeting them, asking about their day, learning about their joys and troubles. There was always so much to learn from the different lives. And even more to learn from what they didn’t share. Everyone here seemed to have some level of mystery to them, with lives more complex than she could even fathom. But trying was half the fun.

Mai refilled Ayako’s coffee, the older woman mumbling a thanks into the countertop.

And no one was more mysterious than the twins. With the amount of heft they had at the diner, Mai had wondered if they were the sons of some politician on their way to positions of importance within the city or state. But she didn’t know their last name, and Ayako didn’t seem to have anything to say about them when Mai had asked about the wealthy families she knew.  

Mai cleared another table, collecting the dirty dishes and payment. Only a five cent tip, but at least they hadn’t stiffed her completely or underpaid the bill.

She had also considered, based on the very healthy tips they had continued to leave her, that they could be wealthy businessmen who had somehow managed to becomes highly successful at a young age, despite the country being in the midst of a Depression.  

Either way, she was impressed, and at least somewhat jealous. They couldn’t be too much older than her and they seemed so established. Where she couldn’t seem to even find a way to get solid footing. Some people had all the luck.

Mai grinned. On the other hand, she was pretty sure she was making progress with Oliver. He’d even nodded his head when she brought him his tea last week. His intense punctuality helped her to have the beverage ready to set down as soon as he arrived. 10:30 every Thursday, practically on the nose. Gene’s arrival was always a bit more on the sporadic side. He had appeared before his brother once, but he usually seemed to saunter in sometime between five and fifteen minutes past the appointed meeting time.

She dropped the dishes in the bin and headed to the register to take care of the bill. Covering a yawn with her hand, she punched in the total. The ringing of the drawer popping open was echoed by the door. Mai placed the money inside and turned to greet her newest customer.

“Welcome to Tuf—” The greeting died in her throat, smile falling away as her mouth dropped open at the black-clad figure passing through the doorway.

What?  Why? He was _hours_ early.

Evidently, she wasn’t the only one shocked, as a momentary hush fell over the diner.  The cop near the door froze, fork halfway to his mouth, eyes obviously trained on the new arrival.

Ignoring the stares that followed him, Oliver slowly made his way across the diner and sunk into his usual booth, his still adorned head resting against the wooden backboard of the seat.  

As if time had become unfrozen, conversation and movement started up again.  The cop opened up a newspaper and buried his nose in the pages.

Mai hurried and got the tea started.  Not that it was a _crime_ for him to be early, but she was annoyed nonetheless.  Just when she thought she had learned his habits…

Unsurprisingly, Oliver glared at her when she brought him the tea.  “You’re late."

“No, I believe _you’re_ early,” she said with a forced smile.  “I’ll have you know, the pot pie isn’t ready yet.”

“Fine, just tea for now,” he said, his tone even rougher than usual. He sat with a noticeable slouch.

Mai blinked.  “Don’t tell me _you_ have a hangover too.”

He just glared at her again, which Mai took as her cue to busy herself elsewhere.

She waited as long as she could, taking and serving orders, setting up mugs, she even wiped out the pie case for a second time that day. But after an hour of Oliver doing nothing but sitting in the booth, staring out the window, and sipping tea, Mai was itching to go back over to the table. Maybe she could ask him for his hat. It was improper for him to have kept it on. And his tea had to be cold by now. If he even had any left.

Oliver’s head bobbed forward before tipping back up sharply. His eyes, tracking the room in case someone had noticed, met with hers. Was it just the shadow of his hat or did he have large bags under his eyes? Mai held up an empty mug and gestured to it with a tilt of her head.

Oliver blinked, his own head tilting in a mirrored image that forced Mai to hold down a smile. Then he nodded and turned back to the window.

Mai jumped as someone snapped their fingers in front of her face.  “Y-yes?!”

Ayako smirked. “Honey, I know he’s gorgeous, but you’re letting yourself get distracted.”

“What?  I’m not—“

Ayako pointed to the pie in front of her. “This doesn’t look like my bill.”

Mai gasped, apologizing over Ayako’s laughter as she hurried the plate away and replaced it with the bill.

Ayako soon called her goodbyes, a smile on her face and color back in her cheeks that wasn’t just makeup. That was another thing Mai loved about this place. It was somewhere people came to feel better. And she was happy to think that she had helped get them there.

The tea ready, Mai finally headed back towards Oliver’s booth.

“Hey, I brought you a pot.”  She poured fresh tea in the mug and placed the small pot on the table. She wanted to ask if he expected Gene early as well, but Oliver had kept his attention on the window.

If he was hungover, that was his fault, and he didn’t have to be even ruder than usual. Her anger flared, but then she thought again.  What if he was actually sick? She could remember one of the girls at the hospital who only got quieter when she wasn’t feeling well. And even if it was his fault, that didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering now.

“Do you want me to take your hat?” Mai made sure to soften her voice so as not to upset his potentially delicate ears and his always delicate pride.

Oliver pulled the hat from his head and looked at it as if wondering how it had gotten there, then handed it over without a word.

“Do you think Gene will be here soon?” Mai hung the hat on the hook. Without its shadow, Mai could see that the bags under his eyes were definitely there, as was a sheen of sweat coating his even paler than usual complexion.

“If you don’t think he is coming soon, do you want something else to eat while you wait for him?” She reached past him to pull a menu from the holder and placed it in front of him.

Oliver gave the menu the most cursory of glances and then looked away, shaking his head.

Mai just watched him.  She felt like she should try harder.

Oliver didn’t laugh at her jokes or return her smiles like Gene did, but he always left more than was needed to cover their bill. Sometimes as much as twice the amount. At first, Mai had hoped that meant there was something else there, some hidden kindness that motivated him. But the more she thought about it, the more it felt off. It just wasn’t practical, and everything about Oliver seemed practical. Painfully so at times.

She chewed her lip.  Come to think of it, she had never seen either of them look at the menu, even when she had tried pointing out specials. Gene only ever smiled and asked for her favorites. Could it be...

“If you want...” Mai leaned a little closer. “I could read it to you?”

Oliver froze, his jaw set, but he didn’t look at her, confirming Mai’s suspicions.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Mai said, lowering her voice further. “I’m happy to help.”

“Just, the tea.”

“Noll,” the nickname felt strange on her tongue, but perhaps it would put him at ease. “I...I could teach you, if you’d like?”

He looked at her, and Mai felt like this was the first time he had _really_ looked at her. His critical eyes drew her in, a question hiding behind their cold blue.

“Why...are you still here?” His voice lacked its usual bite, but the words cut nonetheless.

Mai’s face heated, her mouth falling open. But she kept herself from yelling back. She had only offered to help him. She knew she couldn’t make him want her help. But he could have just said no. He didn’t have to be an ass about it.

“Why...do you always try to talk to us?” he continued.

“I didn’t realize I needed to justify being friendly.”

“We don’t need people being friendly to us.”

She crossed her arms.  “Your brother doesn’t seem to mind.”

Oliver’s trademark glare was back. “My brother is an idiot who doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

“Well, I think he’s wonderful.” She put her hands on her hips. “He’s always treated me kindly, unlike a certain _someone_.”

“He’s like that with most women,” he said, staring back at her. “You’re not special.”

Mai swallowed, suckerpunched. She already knew that, or at least, suspected.  But that didn’t mean she was ready to hear it pointed out so bluntly. For what it was worth, she liked the attention.

She glared at him.  “I knew a cat like you once.”

“Excuse me?” Oliver glared back, the sweat glistening in little beads on the sides of his temple.

“He was a mean, disagreeable thing.  It took me years to get him to come around.” Mai leaned in, an angry finger pressed against his shirt. “But by the time I left, I had him purring in my lap.”

Oliver’s face went blank and he looked towards the window once more. “I’d like to sit in peace until Gene arrives.”

Mai fumed.  He did _not_ get to just blow her off like that! She pulled back her finger, ready to poke him again until he acknowledged her.

A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face, bouncing with his adam's apple as he swallowed.

Wait, maybe he wasn’t blowing her off.  He was running away. Did that mean...had she just…won?

Mai leaned back and pulled at the edge of her apron. She wanted to give herself a cheer, for finally telling him off.  But somehow, her heart wasn’t in it.

So instead of celebrating, she walked away. She had work to do anyway.

The diner turned out quiet that evening. The dinner crowd faded away, leaving less than a handful of people in the small space. The sounds of the percolator brewing mixed with the odd snatch of conversation left a muted feeling to the air. Time ticked by slowly, and Mai busied herself managing the dishes and taking care of the few requests that came her way.

Oliver continued to sip at his tea periodically, only breaking the pattern once to lift the pot and refill his mug. This time, Mai made sure to steer clear of him, her stomach turning every time she even looked in his direction.

Finally, once another hour had passed, Mai ran out of things to keep her occupied, and she headed through the kitchen.

“Monk, could you please watch the front?  I’m taking a five minute break.”

“Sure.”  He raised an eyebrow at her.  “Hey, are you—”

She pushed through the back door before he could finish asking if she was okay.

Outside, the night was chilly, but she hadn’t thought to grab her cardigan. She just had to get some air.

Mai wrapped her arms around herself and paced. The crisp air licked against her overheated skin.

“Not special.”  What did he know, anyway?

Maybe she didn’t want to be _special_.

Maybe she just wanted to have friends, to get along with the people around her.

“We don’t _need_ people being friendly to us,” she mimicked with a sneer. “Prick.”

Mai dropped to sit on a stack of crates behind the diner.  Wanting friends was something every _normal_ person wanted. Just because he was so strange didn’t mean he got to make her feel bad about it.

She shivered, the cold of the wall spreading across her back. Quelling her anger and leaving her eyelids heavy...

She was in her mother’s room at the Harrison’s. Mai always wound up there whenever she was upset, buried beneath the colorful starburst pattern of her mother’s quilt.

As one of the few things they had brought with them when they had moved, being beneath the quilt always felt like a safe space. _Her_ space.

The bed shifted, and Mai felt her mother’s hand rub her back over the covers.

“Shall I ask who started it today?” Her voice was quiet, and the thick cover only muffled it further. But Mai didn’t have to hear the question to know what it was. It was always the same thing.

Mai pulled the cover from her head with a huff. “Jonathan is a liar,” she pouted.

Her mother smiled wryly.  “Mai, that is not an easy thing to accuse someone of.”

“It’s true!” Mai bounced slightly with the force of her reply. “He said he couldn’t see Annette, even when she was sitting right in front of them! It was very rude. And Constance agreed with him! I hate them both.” Mai pulled the blanket back over her head.

“Mai, dear. We don’t hate people.”

“I do,” Mai said from under the quilt.

“Mai.” Her mother pulled at the cover, laying down on the small bed next to her.

Looking into her mother’s brown eyes, Mai let out the tears that she had been fighting to keep down. “Am I _strange,_ mama?”

Mother pulled her close.  “No, no, my dearest,” she soothed, running a hand through her hair. “You’re not strange, you’re _special_.”

_“Hey!”_

Mai jerked awake. She was slumped over on the crates in the alley behind the diner. Her fingers felt stiff with cold.  How long had she fallen asleep for?

“I said get lost, would ya?”

Mai looked up at the angry voice filling the alley, but couldn’t see anyone. She heard something fall a short distance away, clattering across the bricks. Keeping low, Mai scooted around Monk’s car to try to get a look.

The end of the alley was brightly lit by a light above the pharmacy shop door. A man in a familiar flat cap stood beneath it, one hand in his pocket and the other pointing at the air in front of him.

“Listen here pally, I already said I can’t do nothin’ for ya. So scat.” Gene waved his hand and turned his back on his invisible conversation partner to head further into the alley.

But he hadn’t made it two steps before Mai saw him stop, body straightening and head pulling back as if someone had grabbed his neck. Mai squinted, and there it was. How had she missed it before?

Behind Gene stood a bear of a man, or at least, she thought it was a man. She couldn’t see him clearly; he flowed in and out of sharpness, and though sometimes she could make out a white eye or the shine from the metal on his fingers, most of him was dark and moving like smoke. And he towered over Gene.

Mai gripped her fingers against the car, a shiver running down her spine.  She had to help. She had to do _something._  Unsure of her next move, Mai began to rise, when she felt something cold press against her leg. No, it wasn’t cold. It was freezing. So much that it almost burned.

She looked down and saw a small hand gripping the skirt on her thigh. Following the arm, she saw a boy, half his face hidden in the shadow of the crates he hid behind.

He brought a finger of his free hand to his mouth. “Shhhhh.”

“But...I have to help him.”  Mai glanced back at Gene, who now seemed to be grappling with the dark force.

“No.” The boy’s voice was faint and raspy. It reminded her of rustling leaves. “The dark man will see us.”

“I have to go.” Mai stood, but he didn’t let go, her skirt pulling him out from the safety of the crates.

The light fell across his dark hair and through the hole where his other eye should have been.

Mai screamed.

The next thing she knew, a warm hand fell over her mouth and began pulling her away from the boy.

Mai thrashed, before realizing this was a threat she knew how to deal with.  She clamped her mouth down.

“Yikes!” Her captor ripped his hand from her teeth and unwound himself from her.

Mai whirled around to find Gene shaking out an injured hand.

“Gene!” she gasped. “I-I’m so sorry, I thought...”

He held out his uninjured hand. “Forget about it. It was on me. Ya think I would have learned my lesson about surprising you after the first time...”

Mai quickly turned back to her side, but there was no sign of the boy.

“Wait...”  She looked back towards the mouth of the alley, but the shape that had been attacking Gene had also disappeared.  “Where did he go?”

“Where did who go?”

“That...man...or whatever it was that was attacking y—.”   She clapped a hand over her mouth.

Gene was looking at her differently now, expectantly.  “Mai?”

She shook her head, eyes wide.  “N-never mind. Please forget that.  My eyes were playing tricks.”

“Are you so sure?”  He stepped closer.

No.  No. This couldn’t be happening again.

“It was nothing.” Her knees wobbled, and she stumbled, falling back onto the crates. “I didn’t— I didn’t see anything!!”

“Mai.  Calm down.  It’s alright.”

She’d only just gotten a fresh start.  

“Please don’t tell anyone!  Please—”

Gene laid a hand on her shoulder.  “Mai, don’t worry.” He leaned down, whispering in her ear.  “I see them too.”

Mai froze.  When he pulled back, she looked up at him in disbelief.

“You’re not alone,” he said gently.  Like before, she could see no hint of ridicule in his smile.

Tears welled up in her eyes.  “...You’re not lying?”

“Now why would I lie about something like that?”  He offered her a hand.

Mai wiped her eyes.  Then, hesitantly, she placed her hand on his.  He pulled her back to her feet.

“...Since when?” she asked.  Now that she’d calmed down, she had nothing but questions on her mind.

Gene shrugged.  “All my life, really.  I know others who are the same too.  Like this one girl…”

Wait.  “A girl?”

“Yeah…”  A shadow crossed his face, but then he shook his head and the smile returned.  “Anyway, why don’t we head inside where it’s warm?”

Head still spinning, Mai nodded and turned to follow him to the door.  But then she stopped.

He looked back, hand on the door knob. “What’s wrong?”

“I...just remembered I would rather stay outside with the ghosts.”

Gene sighed and held the door open. “What did he say this time?”

Mai just shook her head and passed him into the kitchen.

“Hey, I was just coming to look for you,” Monk said, untying his apron with a smile that fell as Gene followed Mai in through the back door.

“Sorry,” Mai sniffed, her hands checking her hat and apron.

Monk looked like he was about to say something else, when Gene moved past her.

“Hey, Monk. How’s it? Ohh, is that mine?” Gene stuck his finger in the gravy that adorned a plate of roast beef.

Mai smacked his finger away.  “And what if that hadn’t been yours?”

Gene just smiled and popped the digit into his mouth. “Mmm.” Then used his damp finger to poke her nose. “But it was.” And he scooped up the plate and headed out of the kitchen, ignoring Mai’s cry of “That’s beside the point!”

 

 **A moment later,** he slid into the booth across from Oliver.  Looking down at his plate, Gene let out a deep sigh.

 _What took you so long?_ his brother asked.

 _Whaddya mean, I’m on time, aren’t I?_ Gene snapped.  He grabbed his utensils and set to work.

A few mouthfuls of beef later, Gene decided that the radio silence coming from his brother was worse than usual. He looked up, and for the first time noticed the pale complexion of his twin.

 _Noll._ He dropped his fork and reached over for Oliver’s gloved hand.

Oliver’s eyes were glassy, the purple bags beneath them giving his face a sunken look. His hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead.

 _Noll, what happened?_ Gene pulled at the fingers of the glove, prying it away from sticky skin.

 _Had a job._ Oliver closed his eyes as Gene slipped his fingers between his brother’s overheated ones. _There were four of them._

 _Four? Jesus._ What had Lin been thinking, asking him to handle four at once? And untested, at that. They’d decided two should be the max for the first time alone. Two.

Gene felt a small trickle of energy move out of Oliver and through his hand. He visualized the energy as a ball and allowed it to run though his whole body, the orb glowing slightly larger as it did so. Then he passed it back.

_You should have told them no, Noll._

Oliver sighed, his eyes opening as a second batch of power passed over to Gene, this one stronger than the last.

_You know I can’t do that._

Gene glared at his brother and sent the buffed current back his way.

Ever since they were little, Oliver had needed Eugene to help him when it came to managing his ability. Gene could remember being amazed the first time he had watched Oliver make a rock hover above his palm. “More, more!” he had called, giving Oliver one object after another to ‘hold’ in the air. By the time their mother had come in, nearly everything not larger than them was moving about the room.

Her scream had ended the fun. But that wasn’t the bad part. The bad part came two hours later, when Gene had gone to check on Oliver in the time-out corner, only to find his brother unconscious, sweating, and barely breathing on the floor.

Gene wasn’t a religious man, but it was only by the grace of something bigger than himself that he unknowingly began the transfer of energy that most likely prevented his brother’s heart from stopping at the tender age of five.

Since then, Oliver had never used his ‘lifting’ (or what Masako later explained was called ‘telekinesis’ by the Spiritualists) unless Gene was there to help him regulate the power. Never, until now.

Now, the most he could do was recharge him once a week, and do some manner of damage control.  But what if one day, he couldn’t be here?

 _You worry too much,_ Oliver said.

_That’s rich, coming from you._

_You want to come back?_  Oliver finally looked across the table at him.

Gene scowled.   _You know I can’t do that either._

Then Oliver pulled his hand away, and their connection broke with a snap. Gene followed his gaze to see Mai approaching the table with Oliver’s plate and a cup of coffee.

Turning back to his brother, Gene watched as Oliver hurried to tug his glove back in place. What had him so worked up?

Mai set the plate down without so much as a word. Then placed the coffee in front of Gene with a smile. “Do you need anything else?” she asked, her eyes firmly planted on Gene.

“I’m good,” he smiled. Something was very weird here. “Noll, did you want more tea?”

Oliver shook his head. But Mai was still looking at Gene.

_You sure? You look like you could do with—_

_Just get her out of here._

Gene winced. That was harsh, even for Oliver.

Widening his smile, Gene turned back to Mai. “I guess we’re good, thanks.”

Mai started to walk away, but turned around and grabbed the teapot off the table before heading back to work.

Gene glared at his brother.   _What the hell, Noll?_

Oliver broke the crust of his pot pie, steam billowing out past his fork and thinning through the air. _What?_

_Don’t even start that shit with me, Oliver Griffith.  What did you say to Mai?_

_Who said I said—_

_Stop._ Gene crossed his arms. _What kinda rube you take me for? I know what it looks like when you piss off a girl._

Oliver scooped out a bite of mixed vegetables and brought it to his mouth.

 _Come on,_ Gene said.

Unwittingly, Oliver’s eyes flicked in the direction of the counter, where Mai was pouring coffee for another customer.   _She knows we can’t read._

Gene blinked.   _What, so you snapped at her over something like that? Who cares._

_It means she’s paying attention.  She could be trouble down the line._

Gene stared at him.  A thought began to emerge in his mind, but he pushed it back before his brother could hear.   _You don’t know that,_ he said instead.

 _What if she starts asking the wrong kind of questions?_  Oliver took another bite.   _She’s already seen enough as it is._

_She’s just naive, Noll.  She ain’t no risk._

_Then do us all a favor and don’t encourage her._

Gene sat in silence and watched him eat.

After a minute, he glanced at Mai behind the counter, who caught his gaze and sent back a shy smile.

Back there in the alley...she had been upset, so in a moment of sympathy, he had let it spill.  Ideally, he would have liked to talk with her longer. But now he wondered, should he have told her anything at all?

Gene turned back to Oliver. His color looked like it had come back a little. His brow no longer glistened with sweat.

An uneasy feeling settled in Gene’s stomach.

Maybe, this time, it would be different.  Oliver seemed oddly concerned for her. More concern than he would usually show a stranger, at least.  Maybe this time, if push came to shove, he would say no.

But for now, Gene decided, the less Oliver knew about Mai, the better.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Special joint author’s note since we are posting this from the same room instead of from states apart!
> 
> Posting schedule: At this point we plan on posting a chapter a month for this story. We will try to keep you updated if that changes in the future.
> 
> Well, we are off to the museum to see the prohibition exhibit and do some research. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of violence.

Note: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of violence.

## Chapter 4

  
**Closing his eyes** , Yasuhara leaned back in the driver's seat and let out a sigh.  A cool breeze brought the chirping of insects and an owl call in through the open window.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had really sat and enjoyed the woods. It had been a long and demanding summer.

Too soon, the fast rhythm of agitated fingers drumming against a hard surface drowned out the tranquil night song.

Yasuhara opened one eye.  Gene was slumped as deeply as the seat would allow him, one arm draped over the back of their shared front seat while the fingers of his other hand fell in rapid succession against the frame of the car door.

“Where is he?”  Gene leaned forward to peer out into the moonlight-mottled forest around them.   

“We’re meeting at 10.”  Yasuhara checked his pocket watch.  “He still has five minutes left. Why don’t you try to relax?”  
  
Gene scoffed, but when he noticed Yasuhara staring at him, he stopped the tapping and brought his hand to pull at his hat instead.  
  
Yasuhara shook his head.

The Griffith Ghosts. Rumor was they were brothers, Balor and Cheshire. One named for the lord of the demons and the other for his unsettling grin.

No one knew what the ghosts looked like.  All anyone knew were whispers— that no one ever saw them and lived.  Nonetheless, their terrifying shadow had kept South Boston firmly under the Baxter Street Gang’s thumb for nearly a decade.  And Yasuhara’s boss would have given anything to get them out of the way.  
  
Then one night, along came this bloody, broken boy.  He’d practically fallen through their door, standing only because of the hands clamped around his arms, making promises and casting nervous glances across the room.  Yasuhara couldn’t believe that this was the Cheshire he had heard so much about.  
  
He glanced at Gene, catching him slip a hand inside his jacket.  Yasuhara sighed. “Don’t.”  
  
“What?”  Gene sent an innocent grin his way.  
  
“No.  Cheshire, we’ve talked about this.  No drinking on the job.”  
  
“Aww, come on, Abercrombie,” Gene said.  “Just a sip.” His lip jutted out in the smallest of pouts.  
  
“No.  I want you sober for this.  You can drink afterwards.”  
  
“Now where’s the fun in that?”    
  
After nearly three months keeping watch on him, Yasuhara couldn’t help but think that the rumors about the ghosts were exaggerated. Gene wasn’t terrifying , he was a mess. If left to his own devices, he could barely get out of bed most mornings.

Gene inched his hand further into his jacket, giving Yasuhara a taunting smirk.

Yasuhara found his lips pull up in a small smile of his own. This guy needed someone to take care of him, and it was turning out nice having someone to talk to again. “Alright, how about this.  Tonight, I’ll join you for a drink. But you have to promise to save it for later.”  
  
Gene sat up.  “You serious?”  Ever since he had opened up, Gene had been trying his best to goad Yasuhara into drinking with him.

“Yes.  Deal?” Yasuhara held out his hand, smiling.

“Can we put on the records?”

Yasuhara’s smile widened. Gene’s face had lit up like a kid on Christmas when Yasuhara brought out the gramophone from his room. Since then, the apartment had been filled with music and conversation.  
“Only if you put a towel in the horn, I don’t need my neighbors knocking on the door because you are playing music at 3 AM again.”

“I can live with that.” Gene gave his hand a firm shake, then leaned back against the seat, grinning.  “Now that’s what I like about you. You ain’t as much of a killjoy as my brother.”  
  
“As much?”  
  
“My handler was a real stick in the mud too.  But you,” Gene clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small shake. “I’m gonna have some fun with _you_.”

Yasuhara’s smile fell from his face and he turned his attention to the woods, the car’s interior suddenly far too small and constricting.  Drunk-and-depressed Gene had spent nearly all of his time in his room, but friendly-and-talkative Gene? Yasuhara was finding it harder to keep him at a professional distance.

The sound of a car engine rose over the whine of the insects.

“It’s a complement, Abercrombie,” Gene said with another pat. But Yasuhara slid away from the touch, moving out of the car as quickly as the door would give way.

The other car rolled into the clearing, its headlights already out.  Wheels crunching over dead leaves, it parked beside them.

Yasuhara took a deep breath and pulled on a welcoming smile, trying to ignore the tingle that wouldn’t fade from his shoulder. “Vinny,” he held out a hand to the large man who had emerged from the vehicle.  “I’m glad you could make it.”  
  
Vinny hesitated for a moment, eyeing Yasuhara’s hand somewhat askance.  “Who's your friend?”  
  
Gene stood slouched against their car, raising his flask in salute before taking a sip. Yasuhara made a mental note to take that damn flask when they got back home.  
  
“New recruit.  Mr. Cogliano has asked me take care of him.”  
  
“Bet you’re happy about that, aren’t cha?” Vinny smirked.  
  
Yasuhara let the proffered hand fall. “How long of a walk is it to the lighthouse?”  
  
“Less than ten minutes northeast.  Let’s get moving,” Vinny said, heading into the woods.  
  
The lighthouse sat at the tip of a rough-hewn jetty, a white tower with two red bands near the top, glowing in the reflected moonlight.  
  
“Far as we can tell, Baxter Street moved in yesterday,” Vinny explained from behind the tree next to Yasuhara.  
  
“I see.”  Yasuhara leaned against his own tree and peered at the tower.  From their vantage point on a short cliff over the road, he could see both the car and the man sitting in front of the tower, but was unable to make out any discernible features.  “Yes, this does look like a serious problem.”  
  
The man at the lighthouse shifted the gun in his arms.  
  
“Mr. Cogliano thanks you for your vigilance, Vinny.”  
  
“We can only assume Delaney offed Frankie and Enzo when he had them take the place.”  
  
Yasuhara nodded.  It was unfortunate, but spoke to the direct manner of business that was expected of the leader of the Baxter Street gang.  
  
“Is that kid sleeping?”  Vinny pointed to Gene, who was slumped against a nearby tree, his head resting on his chest.

So he had started already. Yasuhara was going to have to remind Gene that he was supposed to tell him before he did anything ‘unusual.’

This was the real reason the two of them had been asked to handle this particular scouting trip. Gene, Yasuhara had been surprised to learn, had the handy ability to close his eyes and allow his soul to escape the confines of his body, to wander places unseen, to hear and see things without the knowledge of others.  Gene had told Cogliano it had something to do with ‘other planes,’ but the details hadn’t mattered as much as the outcome.  
  
“How do you think they realized its value?” Yasuhara asked, hoping to pull Vinny’s attention back to the lighthouse.  
  
“Dorchester,” Vinny said, as if that was all the explanation necessary.  
  
“Dorchester?  You think Mike would sell us out?  He seemed smarter than his late brother.”  
  
“Can’t say that he had much of a choice.  When the ghosts show, I figure a fellow would say pretty much anything to make them go away.”  
  
“The ghosts...”  Yasuhara took a quick look at Gene, but he still seemed unaware of the conversation around him.  “You sure?”  
  
“Fits the MO.  No shell casings, no one heard a thing, and they found some cigarette butts in the carnage.  No one was scratched up though, so it wasn’t the cat. Sounds more like the demon’s work.”  
  
“Shit.”  Yasuhara chewed his lip.  If Gene’s brother was active again, that could quickly put Gene in trouble with the rest of the Cogliano family.  
  
Yasuhara saw Gene stir, pulling at his hat and brushing off some leaves as he rose and came to stand next him.  
  
“Have a nice nap?” Vinny said with a glare.

Gene glared back, but Yasuhara cut him off before he could say something they might both regret later. “Well?”  Yasuhara looked at Gene expectantly.  
  
Gene frowned, but pointed at the base of the lighthouse.  “There’s the one at the door and two more inside on that bottom floor.  They’ve all got Tommy guns.” His hand moved upward along the lighthouse.  “The last guy is at the top. He ain’t got nothin’ but a pistol.”  
  
Yasuhara nodded.  “Four isn’t too bad.”  
  
“Like hell you know that,” Vinny said, disbelief clear on his face.  “How’d you possibly tell any of that?”  
  
“I don’t gotta explain shit to you.”  Gene started forward, but Yasuhara held him back with a hand on his chest.

“Alright, that’s enough.”  Yasuhara looked between the two men.  “We’ve got what we came here for. Now we take this information back to Mr. Cogliano.”  
  
“You wanna leave?” Gene asked, eyes trained back on Yasuhara.  
  
“Yes, our job was to get intel on what happened to the lighthouse.  Now we take that back and Mr. Cogliano decides—”  
  
“Bullshit,” Gene said, stepping back from Yasuhara and bringing his hand up to point at the lighthouse again.  “We know who’s in there now, why should we wait for them to change the set up?”  
  
“Maybe because we don’t have any weapons,” Yasuhara said, matching his tone.  “Not to mention that there are four of them and only three of us.”  
  
Gene scoffed.  
  
“Shut your mouth, kid,” Vinny growled, using all of his height to loom over Gene.  “You must be even dumber than you look if you think I am risking my life to go in there with some green kid and a pansy as my only backup.”  
  
Gene’s hand shot around Vinny’s throat, the force of the blow pressing the larger man against the tree with a strangled croak.  
  
“Watch your mouth, Vinny,” Gene’s lip curled up at the edge, “or I’ll carve you a new one.” His switchblade glistened in the moonlight as it pressed against Vinny’s cheek.  
  
Yasuhara tried to remain calm.  “Cheshire, put the knife down.”  
  
Vinny’s eyes went wide, his fractured attempts at breath growing closer together.  
  
Gene glared up at the other man, seeming to contemplate his options.  
  
Yasuhara brought a hand to Gene’s arm and whispered.  “This isn’t how you make a good impression on the boss.”  
  
Gene’s fingers squeezed, Vinny’s choking gasps going silent.  Then he pulled his hand away and started walking.  
  
“Where are you going?” Yasuhara called over Vinny’s coughs.  
  
“To work,” Gene said, slipping off into the dark.  
  
To work?  Was he crazy?  What did he think he was going to do against four armed men?  
  
Vinny braced himself against the tree.  “The _cat!_  I can’t believe…”  
  
Yasuhara lifted his hat, running a hand through his hair and watching the road for signs of Gene.  Things had been going so well up to now. He had kept him safe, just like the boss had asked.  
  
“I knew Cogliano was getting desperate, but I never thought—”  
  
Should he go down to help?  What could he do? He was an accountant.  He was supposed to be keeping books, cooking them if necessary.  He wasn’t designed for combat situations.  
  
He wrapped a hand around the branch next to him, the tree anchoring him as his eyes scanned the breakers. His breath caught when he spotted a dark shape moving along the rocks of the jetty, closing in on the man guarding the door. His fingers tightened around the tree branch, sure that the guard would spot Gene at any moment.

“—a monster like _that_!"  

Yasuhara could hardly hear Vinny.  All he could think about at the moment was that ‘monster’ lying on dark rocks as waves lapped at cold fingers.  

He was gonna die.  They were both gonna die.  Gene was going to get himself killed and then the boss was going to kill him.

But then the guard crumpled to the ground, revealing Gene standing in the lamplight in front of the door.

Strong hands pulled at Yasuhara’s shoulders, shaking him.  “You can’t just stand here, we gotta get outta here!”

Yasuhara pushed Vinny away, the slam of a door opening snapping his attention back ahead of him.  There, once more silhouetted against the brighter light of the inside, stood Gene, the guard's Tommy gun nestled in his arms. “Heya, fellas!  Ya miss me?!”  
  
Gene opened fire on the interior of the lighthouse, the loud cry of the gun echoing across the rocks around them in a cacophony of sound that left Yasuhara covering his ears, even after Gene’s figure no longer filled the doorway.

“Forget this!” Vinny yelled, taking off back through the woods.

Yasuhara ran, but not to get away.  He stumbled on the loose rock that fell away with his scramble and slid the last few feet to the road. The lighthouse loomed closer and his breath was already coming heavy.  He had to help. He couldn’t let Gene go in there alone.

  
  
**A wood burning** stove stood open, its flames heating the small living space comprised of a dining table, its two chairs, a small bookcase bending under the weight of crowded shelves, and a red velvet sofa.  It was almost picturesque, save for the bullet holes that riddled the sofa and the two slumped figures splayed across it, their scarlet-covered skin blending them together with their resting place.  
  
Yasuhara brought a hand to his mouth on reflex, stomach rolling.  His head swam, floor unsteady beneath his feet, as his mind called back the image of his father’s body, broken and sprawled across the floor, dark pool growing beneath him.  
  
The loud bang of a gunshot sounded above him, followed by a flurry of return fire, snapping him back to the present.  That’s right, he had come here to help Gene. Throwing himself at the banister, he started up the stairs that spiraled along the circumference of the tower.  

There was a grunt, and Yasuhara watched as the Tommy gun fell past him, clattering to the floor below.  Above him, a mass he could only imagine was Gene and another man were locked in battle. Any hope of distinguishing the two was lost to the bright light that shone around them.  
  
“Traitor!” part of the mass accused.  A growl echoed back and the mass moved, their shadows sliding away.  Another cry echoed down, and then silence. Yasuhara’s stomach sank, but he finished his climb. Gene’s cap rested at the top of the stairs.  He picked it up, squeezing the rough wool in one hand and the railing with the other as he peered into the lantern room.  
  
Blood splatter ran down the crystalline structure of the lantern, glistening against the bright light.  The shattered glass of the room’s walls littered the stairs and floor; the wind, stronger than its counterpart sixty feet below, shifted the shards noisily across the metal grated floor.  And from the far side of the lantern came soft grunts, punctuated by a wet smacking sound.  
  
There was no stopping now.  If Gene was dead, he should at least confirm it with his own eyes before he was taken himself.  Yasuhara stepped onto the grate. Ahead of him, feet became visible around the side of the lantern, twitching in time with the blows.  Another step forward completed the gruesome picture. There, straddling the torso of the larger man, kneeled Gene. His knife cast a long shadow above them before it fell back into the meat of the man again, and again, and again.  
  
The snap of broken glass echoed around them as Yasuhara stepped backwards, mind reeling.  Gene paused, his head cocked to the side, listening, before whipping around to look back. Bright blue eyes blazed amidst a red mask, his face split into a wide grin.

Yasuhara’s breath caught in his throat.  He had made a mistake. He had come to help Gene, but Gene, it seemed, wasn’t even here. Instead, he stared at Cheshire and the bloody thing that used to be a man beneath him.  
  
His mind told him he should scream, scream and run, escape.  But he couldn’t, his knees gave out, his hands sliding on the shards as he hit the ground.  

The knife clattered against the floor and Yasuhara scrambled into the railing, squeezing his eyes shut. It was three years ago all over again and he still couldn’t move. His chest ached, sick with the understanding that he was still just a coward.

Broken glass crunched, the sharp cracks mingling with the pounding of his heart.  
  
“Yasuhara?”

A hand fell on his shoulder and he recoiled, pressing himself against the rail.  Praying it would be fast, even if he didn’t deserve it.

“Hey, Abercrombie.”    
  
The soft voice slowed the rush of blood in Yasuhara’s ears and he opened his eyes.  Gene looked back, still a gruesome sight, but the fiery eyes and too wide grin of the monster were gone.  How? Yasuhara couldn’t believe he had imagined it.  
  
Gene’s eyes scanned his face.  “Are you okay?”  
  
“I…”  The words stuck in Yasuhara’s throat as he caught a glimpse of the other man again.  

Gene followed his line of sight, then moved, blocking the body from view.  “Sorry bout that, I got a little, uh, caught up.” As if in afterthought, he wiped at his bloody face with a damp sleeve, smearing, more than removing, the crimson substance.

Another round of nausea surged forward.  “I came to...make sure you were alright,” Yasuhara managed.    
A look of surprise formed on Gene’s face, before being replaced by a soft smile. “Yasuhara, my plenty rugged accountant, here to save the day.”  He shook his head. “And you even rescued my hat.” Gene took the hat, placed it back on his head, then reached to adjust Yasuhara’s hat.

Yasuhara was too confused to even flinch.  What had happened? He felt like he was missing something.  Or many somethings.  
  
“Hey, your hand...”  Gene took Yasuhara’s hand, examining it.  Three pieces of glass had embedded themselves in his palm.  Yasuhara brought shaking fingers to the glass, attempting unsuccessfully to pluck them out.    
  
Gene’s steady hand fell over his own.  “How about you let me take care of that for you?  But for now, can you stand? Don’t mean to rush you, but all this commotion is sure to turn a few heads, even out here.  I think it’s best if we make tracks, and soon.”  
  
With help, Yasuhara managed to get back on his feet, and allowed Gene to awkwardly guide him down the stairs until they became wide enough for them to share a step.  When they reached the bottom, Gene stopped Yasuhara near the wood burning stove, steadying his shoulders with a firm grip before letting him go to rummage through the kitchen area.  
  
“Got it,” Gene said, coming back with a towel that he gently wrapped around Yasuhara’s hand, careful not to press the glass any farther into his palm.  “There.”  
  
Red dots sprang up amongst the embroidered flowers of the towel.  Yasuhara blinked. “Are we...going home?” he asked, unsure as to what the proper protocol was for a post-murder spree wind-down.  
  
“Yeah, we’re going home,” Gene told him.  “Now, can you walk or would you like me to help you?”

Yasuhara took a heavy step forward, and when the world did not upend itself beneath him, he took another.  Question answered, Gene walked ahead of Yasuhara and waited as his companion reached to grab something from the bookshelf before following him out.  
  
“What’s that you got there?” Gene asked, as Yasuhara staggered past him.  
  
He shoved the bottle of whiskey against Gene’s chest.  “You promised me a drink,” Yasuhara said, then continued at a slow but steady pace down the path back to the mainland, Gene’s laughter once more bubbling up around them.  
  


**Blood slid down** Yasuhara’s palm, collecting in the crease of his wrist before dripping with a splat into the kitchen sink.  He gripped the tweezers tighter, hoping that a firmer hold would minimize the shaking. He knew the tiny tips had made purchase on the glass when a new streak of pain laced up his arm.  Turning his gaze to the ceiling and willing his stomach to stay put, he slid the shard from his palm and let it fall into the sink with a soft clink.  
  
Only one more to go.  Yasuhara grabbed the bottle of whiskey next to him and took a swig, the burn of it tampering his nausea for just a moment.  He looked at his hand, the blood flowing faster from the newly vacated slice. Maybe one more sip first.  
  
A laugh caught in his throat, leaving him coughing.  “God, I’m pathetic.”  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Yasuhara dropped the tweezers into the sink with a yelp as Gene’s voice came from right next to him.  
  
“Didn’t I say I would take care of that?”  
  
“You needed to get cleaned off and I wasn’t planning on waiting half the night to have my hand back,” Yasuhara said, retrieving his fallen tool.  “Besides, I can handle—” The tweezers fell again, bouncing off the wood of the floor.  
  
Gene stood within reach, skin still damp with residual moisture from his shower, with only a towel wrapped around his waist.  
  
“Oh dear God.”  Yasuhara turned back to the sink, his face burning with what he hoped would pass as the alcohol.  “Where are your clothes?”  
  
“Soaking in the tub.  Now, how about you let me see that hand?” Gene said, reaching for Yasuhara’s hand, only to have it jolt away as soon as he touched it.  
  
“Cheshire, I really must insist that you put on clothes,” Yasuhara told the ceiling.  
  
“Oh come on, don’t be such a prude. It’s my apartment too. ”  
  
“That may be the case, but I—”  
  
“And didn’t I already tell ya?”  Gene jumped up to sit on the counter next to the sink and shook his head, sending water droplets everywhere. “If we ain’t on a job, just call me Gene.”  
  
Yasuhara took off his glasses to wipe the water from both them and his face. “You’re changing the subject...”  
  
Gene’s dazzling smile showed no hint of embarrassment at his semi-nude state.  “I can’t put on clothes. That was my only outfit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I gotta soak it if I want to get the blood out, and you made me give you the other two for the cleaners.”  
  
It was Saturday.  He always had the laundry taken out on Saturdays so he could have everything pressed and returned before the business week started again. Yasuhara cursed himself for his reliable nature.  
  
“So about that hand.”  Gene took Yasuhara’s injured hand in his own.  
  
Yasuhara didn’t resist this time and instead turned his attention to the bottle on the counter.  The label was peeling up near the bottom. He took a sharp breath as Gene gently ran a finger across his palm.  
  
“Sorry, did that hurt? I was trying to check if there were any more shards.”  
  
Yasuhara shook his head, then added, “There is only the one left near the pointer. I was able to remove the other two on my own.”  
  
Gene’s fingers gave a tentative prod and Yasuhara let out a hiss.  
  
“Found it.”  
  
“Yes, I know.”  
  
“Where are the tweezers?”  
  
“Oh, uh...”  Yasuhara stooped to look under the sink and scanned the floor, ignoring the dangling legs swinging lightly next to his head, and spotted the tweezers under the sink pedestal.  
  
“So, this your first time?”  
  
Yasuhara slammed his head up into the underside of the sink with a cry.    
  
“Oh shit, are you okay?”  Gene grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up for closer scrutiny.

Yasuhara nodded, feeling himself waver on his feet.  It was the head injury, he told himself. God, he hoped it was the head injury.  
  
“You should probably sit down.” Gene hopped down from the counter and pushed him towards the sofa in the sitting area at the front of the apartment.  
  
He wanted to argue, to point out that he should be by the sink to work on his hand, but all Yasuhara could get out was “My hand—” as he dropped onto the cushioned seat.  
  
“I got it.”  Gene went to work with the tweezers, deftly removing the remaining shard of glass with far less pain than Yasuhara had managed to inflict on himself.  That done, Gene stepped away for a moment, returning with a fresh towel to tie around his hand. All of it handled with a speed that seemed untrackable to Yasuhara’s throbbing head.  
  
“You’re very good at this,” he told Gene.  
  
“Yeah, well, twelve years is a lot of time to practice.”  
  
“Twelve years.”  Yasuhara stared at him, the pain dulled as the facts of such a time frame sunk in.  Gene looked to be around his age, late teens or early twenties. He wanted to ask how a _child_ would find himself in this line of work, but he was almost afraid to hear the answer.  
  
“But don’t you worry none, that also means I have plenty of practice seeing first timers, so I can help you out.”  
  
“First...time?”  
  
“Seeing a body.  You don’t have to worry, it’ll sort of fade into the background eventual—”  
  
“It’s not my first time seeing a body.”  
  
“Oh, well sure.  But I know seeing these probably wasn’t like watching your grandpa pass or something.  Deaths like these, they kinda tend to stick with a guy a little—”  
  
“I’ve seen murder before,” Yasuhara said, staring at Gene. “Three years ago.”  
  
Gene’s eyes slid away from his, embarrassment finally finding a home on his features. “When you joined?”  
  
Yasuhara looked at his feet and shook his head.  “No, I— that was a few months later.” He blinked back the sting in his eyes and looked up at Gene, pushing out a smile. “I believe you mentioned something about drinks?”  
  
”You’re damn right I did.  I’ll be right back.” Gene ran back to the kitchen and Yasuhara took the opportunity to lift his glasses and wipe at the moisture that seemed determined to make its way out of his eyes.  This head injury must have really thrown him for a loop.  
  
Cleaned up as best as he could for the moment, Yasuhara stood and headed for his room.  
  
When he made it back to the sitting area, Gene was sitting on the sofa, still in his towel, with a small army of bottles around his bare feet and two tumblers resting on the side table.  
  
“I wasn’t sure your poison.”  
  
“I think I’ll stick with the whiskey,” Yasuhara said, holding out a small pile of grey cloth.  
  
“What’s this?”  
  
“Pajamas.  I know we’ve got a pretty nice place, but the radiator has been known to break on occasion, and I can’t have you catching your death.”  
  
“Oh, thanks.”  Gene took the offered clothes and stood, pulling on the towel around his waist and forcing Yasuhara to admire the decor of his own home.  
  
“I can’t believe you only have three outfits,” Yasuhara muttered.  “And no house clothes?”  
  
“Well, I didn’t exactly have time to pack, did I?”  
  
“Right.”  Yasuhara shook his head.  It’s not like Gene had stumbled in that night with a suitcase in hand.  What would clothes have mattered if Gene couldn’t prove he was worth keeping alive till the morning?  
  
But prove his worth, Gene had done, and then some. Bloody and battered, he had sat in a chair, limbs going loose.  To everyone’s shock, he then began speaking with a different voice. The voice of Nadia Cogliano, the late sister of their boss, Oronzo.  
  
Yasuhara wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it himself.  But Gene— no, Nadia— knew everything about her and Oronzo’s life, from how they used to prank the old man at the end of their block, to where Nadia had stashed the load of cash from the speakeasy before she got gunned down six months before.  
  
Then came the wait for the information to be confirmed.  Gene struggled to stay conscious all the while, that cocky smile seemingly stuck on his face despite the obvious fatigue and pain that clawed at him.  Yasuhara had wondered how he could sit there, so sure that his lies would work out. So unafraid. Was he made of confidence? Was that what leaked from his split lip?  
  
When the men came back, they brought with them the recovered case, containing nearly ten thousand in cash that they had thought lost half a year ago. Gene had spoken the words of someone dead.  Could he do that for anyone? Even...his father?

A bump on his arm brought Yasuhara’s attention back to the present.  Gene was holding out one of the tumblers with a shot of the honey brown whiskey.  Yasuhara took the drink gladly, tipping it back as he tried to burn off the shock left by the initial sight of Gene in his second best pajamas.  
  
“Whoa there slugger, that’s a sipping whiskey.”  
  
Yasuhara wiped at his mouth and held the empty glass out to Gene for a refill. “Did you want to pick the record or shall I?”

 

 **“My father was** a tailor,” Yasuhara said, placing his now empty glass on the table. He was considering whether he wanted a third glass, but found his options limited. In the hour Yasuhara had taken to finish this glass, Gene had managed to finish off the bottle of whiskey, and, it appeared, the scotch.  “I learned how to keep books helping in his shop.”

Bobbing his head to the foxtrot that came from the now towel-muffled gramophone, Gene held up a half empty bottle of gin and Yasuhara shrugged his consent.

“A tailor?  No wonder you’re so picky about clothes.”  Gene pulled the glass closer to him.  
  
“You say picky, I say informed.”  
  
“So how’s it you’re here?  With Cogliano?”  
  
“I...my father was his tailor.”  
  
At the pause, Gene looked up from pouring to stare at him.  
  
“After he passed away, Mr. Cogliano was kind enough to offer me a job.”  
  
Gene stood from the sofa, and with two somewhat unsteady steps, brought the glass back to Yasuhara instead of just reaching across the gap between them.  “You didn’t want to keep it? The tailor’s?”  
  
Yasuhara shook his head and took a sip from his newly filled glass.  
  
Gene leaned against the arm chair and looked down at him.  “You should’ve.” He kneeled next to the chair, roughly taking Yasuhara’s face in his hands.  “Listen.”  
  
His breath was heavy with alcohol.  Yasuhara pulled his head back on instinct, but Gene only tightened his grip and pulled him closer.  “Listen. You’re nice, you’re attractive.” Gene stared into his eyes, his pupils wide and glassy, but commanding nonetheless. “You meet someone, family, kids, everything on the level.  You don’t have to sit in this shit.”  
  
Yasuhara blinked back the layers to that statement that he wasn’t ready to look at.

“What about you?  Don’t you want to… meet someone?”  
  
Gene shook his head, the force of it moving his whole body and pulling Yasuhara’s head from side to side with it.  “You’re not listening. I _am_ this shit.  I fucked up Masako’s life, can’t do that again.  Not to someone sweet, like Mai.”  
  
He gave Yasuhara’s numb cheek a small pat before letting go and sliding the rest of the way to lay on the floor.  
  
“Mai?”  Yasuhara could barely hear his own voice.  Always the same old story. He should have guessed.  
  
“Yeah.”  Gene threw his arm over his eyes.  “You know, with the hair and the pie.  And that cute smile. Mai ain’t the type of girl you just have as a squeeze, you know.  There’s this innocence. God, it makes her light up a whole room.”

“And you,” Yasuhara took a steadying breath, “you don’t think you deserve her?”  
  
“Nah.”  Gene gave his head another exaggerated shake, his eyes still closed.  “She deserves someone— proper. It’d just be Masako all over again, y’know?”  
  
“Masako?”  
  
“My old twist.  All I did was drag her into trouble.  Can’t be doin’ that again.”  
  
Yasuhara looked down at Gene, splayed out drunk on the floor in borrowed pajamas because his only other clothing was soaking out the blood of his four most recent murder victims. He should be terrified, but instead it was the familiar heaviness of disappointment that draped over him.  
  
“She’s even got the same, y’know, sight.  Seein’ ghosts.”

Yasuhara’s mind snapped to attention. Mai? She could see spirits as well? How did Gene know?  
  
“And I wanna help her.  She seemed pretty freaked out by it. I could talk with her.  Help her figure things out, but…”  
  
“But?”  Despite himself, Yasuhara’s interest was piqued.  For as talkative as Gene had become recently, he was still pretty cagey when it came to his special talents. He had never even considered that there could be more folks like Gene.  “Is there a problem with her seeing ghosts?”  
  
“Yes!”  Gene stared at Yasuhara, expectation and anticipation mixed with a haze in his eyes.  
  
“And that problem is…?”  
  
“What if she starts seein’ the people we’ve killed?”  
  
“Oh.  I see, that could be an issue…”  
  
“You’re damn right it is!  What if she talks to them?”  
  
“That...would be bad.”  
  
Gene let out a groan.  “I can’t let her know I kill people.  She’s not the type to be okay with that.”  
  
“So you think it would be better to pursue a relationship based on lies?”  
  
Gene grimaced.  “No, but I’m not— well I am, but I’m not just a— a…see, this is what I mean!  I ain’t got a chance.”  
  
“No.”  Yasuhara took a deep breath.  “I know you’re not just your job, G...Gene.”

Gene gave a hazy grin at the use of his name.

“I think you should talk to her.  Maybe, you take it slow. Use this connection first, see where it takes you.  It’s been my experience that people aren’t as innocent as we like to think they are, and maybe in your case that could work to your advantage.”  
  
“Sure, until Noll finds out.”  
  
“Your brother?  Do you think he would disapprove of Mai?”  
  
Gene looked at the ceiling.  “It’s not that.”  
  
“Do you think he’d be...jealous?”  
  
Gene let out a sharp sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, but Yasuhara had no help placing it as Gene decided to move his arm back over his eyes.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“There ain’t many of us, y’know.  I used to think it was just me and Noll.  Then we met Masako and I learned there was more.”  
  
“That sounds like it must have been great for you.”  
  
Gene gave his head a small shake.  “Delaney learned it too.”  
  
Yasuhara knew enough about the Baxter Street boss to know that couldn’t be a good thing.  “You don’t...”  
  
“I thought it was hitting on all eight, y’know?  I finally had a gal, and she weren’t just any gal.  She was like me, different, only...she ended up not so keen on what went along with that.” Gene reached out blindly for a new bottle, his heavy hand blundering through the collection.  “Not that I can blame her, people want normal lives. She sure wasn’t going to get that with me.”  
  
Gene gave a bottle a swish and, hearing the sloshing of liquid, pushed himself up to sit.  “She ran seances for Delaney for a while, but she was more interested in helping the spirits than pumping them for information.  So, she tried to leave, said she was made for more than helping some greedy mob boss line his pockets with blood money.”

“And Delaney didn’t like that.”  Yasuhara could imagine what happened next.  
  
Gene shook his head and took a swig straight from the bottle.  “Noll kept saying ‘a smart fella don’t poke his nose where it don’t belong.’  And sure, she weren’t my squeeze no more by then, but I had to help her out. Besides, Noll’s a goddamn idiot.”  Gene took another swig and turned back to Yasuhara. “Don’t poke ya nose? He just didn’t want me to know it was _his_ job to off her when she ran.”  
  
“He…”  
  
Gene pointed his finger at Yasuhara’s forehead.  “Pow, pow. Double down to make sure the deed is done.  At least, that’s what I heard. I made tracks outta there as soon as they finished putting the screws ta me.”  
  
“But if you didn’t see or hear it from him, then maybe he didn’t do it?”  
  
“He did it.”  Gene took another swig.  
  
“But how do you know?”  
  
“Because I’m not fucking dead!” Gene slammed the bottle on the floor next to him. Cracks spider webbed their way up from the impact. “Forget leaving, I fucking turned coat!  There’s only one reason Delaney hasn’t made short work of ending my shit life.”

“Because your brother...”  
  
“Did his damnedest to clean up my fuck up.”  Gene brought the bottle back to his lips, whispering into it, “I hate him,” before drinking deeply. Tears spilling from tightly clenched eyes.

Yasuhara looked at his own hands, at the glass shaking there.  “And...you think, if you got close to Mai, it would happen again?” He looked back at Gene. “That your brother would ki— hurt her?”  
  
Gene looked away, wiping at his eyes. “Who the hell knows?”  The heat was gone from his voice. “I ain’t got a clue, and I’m his fuckin’ twin.”  
  
“But you wouldn’t put it past him.”  
  
“He used to be like you.” Gene held the neck of the bottle loosely, watching it move as he rolled it across the floor.

“How do you—

“He used to _hate_ it. The jobs. He didn’t say nothing. But he couldn’t hide it from me.  He never could. But now…” Gene’s voice gave out.

“Now?”

Gene’s fingers clenched around the bottle and he took a deep breath.  “Now he’s a goddamn monster. And it’s all my fault.”

  


**Yasuhara’s chin drooped,** sending his glasses to the end of his nose and jolting him awake in his chair. The constant _shhht shhht_ of the finished record came from the gramophone, its muffle now pooled on the floor beneath as if it too were too tired to continue on its work for the evening.  

Yasuhara wasn’t sure exactly when Gene fell asleep, or himself for that matter, but he had no intention of finishing out the night in this chair. On the floor at his feet, Gene’s chest rose and fell slowly.  
  
What now?  He had helped a very inebriated Gene make it back to his room on more than one occasion, but he had never been completely passed out.  And somehow, Yasuhara couldn’t bring himself to shake Gene awake this time.  
  
The floor would do.  It might not be comfortable, but there was enough space to stretch out, and he could get the blanket from Gene’s room.  
  
Yasuhara lingered for just a moment, staring at this mess of a man below him, the heady breath of an alcohol-induced sleep falling regularly from his parted lips.  The memory of the terrifying creature he had witnessed hours earlier obliterated by the image of this broken, lost child.

He lifted the needle from the record, silencing its call, and with a sigh, headed to the bathroom for his own shower.  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTE: DECEMBER 2018  
> Please note that all four of the previous chapters to this story have undergone updates/additions/edits, including an entirely new scene in Chapter 2. We highly recommend that before you proceed with this chapter, you take the time to go back and reread the previous chapters so that you have the most up to date information for the story.

 

## Chapter 5

 **Gene knew they** were in the room as soon as he woke.  Their presence brought a prickling to his skin that didn’t fade despite the heavy hammering in his skull.

He cracked open an eye.  Six pale, ghastly faces stared down at him in various states of decomposition.  He shut his eye with a groan. The transparent nature of their gruesome forms did nothing to stop the daylight from stabbing directly into his brain.

Gene threw an arm over his face.  “Ugh, it’s too early for this shit.”

“It’s nearly noon,” he heard Yasuhara say from nearby.

The soft, sharp whispers of otherworldly voices tumbled over each other in their rush to reach him.  ‘ _Please, sir—cold—If you could just tell my sister—my son—they lost—so cold—you fuckin’ murderer.’_

Gene brought his hands to his ears, but he could still hear them.  Asking, accusing, demanding. They always seemed to find him.

_‘I never told—Mary, my Mary—they didn’t know—you’re gonna fry—I need to speak to him.’_

Gene sat up, flinging his pillow across the room.  “Shut it! Get out! Out!”

He held his head, panting against the dizziness his movement had caused.

He knew the cause, or at least part of it.  It was something about death. He only had to be near it for them to find him.  And if he caused it...well, there was a reason he liked to drink after a job. Blood on his hands brought the ghosts like flies to shit.

Come to think of it, this didn’t feel like his bed.  A memory from the night before stung at his frazzled mind.  Had he passed out on the floor?

“Fuck.”

The calls faded and Gene peeked out from between his fingers.  Three of the ghosts were still in the room. An older man Gene didn’t recognize stood by the window.  Frank, a former bootlegger for Delaney, was waiting by the front door with his usual scowl. And Colman O'Brien was seated in Yasuhara’s armchair, his torso a ghostly reflection of the bloody mess Gene had left on the top of the lighthouse.

Gene ran his hand through his hair.  At least they weren’t crowding around him anymore.

“Gene?”  Yasuhara’s voice was quiet, but it still made Gene wince.

 _‘I didn’t tell nobody.  Nobody,’_ Frank kept repeating.

Yasuhara walked over and placed a glass down on the side table near Gene’s head.  “Here’s some water.”

Gene took the glass and drank it in three long gulps.

“Take it easy.  You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

Gene made a face and looked up at Yasuhara, only to find himself momentarily stupefied.  He knew his memories from last night were more than a little bit spotty at the moment, but how was it that he ended up waking on the floor with his head threatening to split open, and Yasuhara still managed to look as impeccable as usual, hair styled and pressed suit resting on him perfectly?

He wasn’t the first guy Gene had known who seemed to put more than two thoughts into what he wore in a day.  But where Oliver and Lin had always appeared to don their suits as a means of commanding dominance, Yasuhara’s outfit was both relaxed and professional.  It felt younger, funner, than anything Gene had seen him in before. It wasn’t half bad.

“How are you feeling?”  Yasuhara took a sip from his own glass of water.

“Like shit.”  Gene kicked away the blanket —where had that come from? —and tried standing, grabbing onto the arm of the sofa to help his balance.

“I can’t say I’m surprised, with the amount you drank last night.  Did you need more?” He held out his glass.

The semi-transparent mass of Colman glared up at him from the armchair.  ‘ _You dirty traitor!  I’m gonna kill you!_ ’

“Yeah.”  Gene gave the ghost a glare and grabbed the offered glass, downing the contents and wiping a hand across his mouth as he finished.

“The clothes came back this morning.  I took the liberty of putting yours on your bed,” Yasuhara said, holding a hand out for the emptied glass.  “Get dressed, Cogliano wants us to stop by before we head out.”

“Head out? Where the hell—”  
  
“Get dressed.  I’ll put on some coffee,” Yasuhara said, heading towards the kitchen.  

The distant politeness was back.

Gene had a sinking feeling that something he had said last night was the cause.  Things had gone well, from what he could remember. But it would make sense if he had managed to put his foot in his mouth yet again.

The old man was looking at him.   _‘Please, I need to speak to my son.’_

Gene ignored him and shuffled towards his room.  He wasn’t surprised to find Colman following behind him.

‘ _Don’t you walk away from me!  I had a wife and kids, you little shit!’_

“Then go bother them, why don’t you.”  Gene shut the door, Colman’s pointed finger passing through the dark wood.  Maybe that would buy him a few moments of quiet.

Gene stopped next to his bed, resting his hands on his freshly pressed clothes, when he caught a waft of the sweet smell of molasses.  A smile came to his lips.

“Morning, Lucy,” he said, turning to the goo-covered ghost of a young woman sitting on the chair in the corner.

She raised a sticky, molasses-covered hand in greeting.

Lucy never asked things of him like the other ghosts did.  In fact, Lucy never said anything. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t figured out their own means of communicating in the eleven years that they had know each other.

He held up his two shirts.  “Gray or blue?”

She raised her left hand and Gene threw the gray shirt from his right back onto the bed.  He set to getting dressed, then moved to look himself over in the mirror. He wasn’t as put together as Yasuhara, but it was surprising what a good clean and press could do to even his old stuff.  He smirked. “All right, how do I look?”

Lucy brought her hands to her heart for a moment, then moved her fists to the air in front of her, turning them as if breaking an invisible branch between them.

Gene chuckled.  “You’re the Bee’s knees, Luce.”  He grabbed his hat off the bed post and gave her one last smile before he headed out of his room.

 _‘Hey, hey, I ain’t done wit you yet!’_ Colman bellowed, but Gene ignored him and headed down the hall.  He wondered if Yasuhara would be willing to make a pit stop on their way.  Colman was one piece of baggage he wasn’t interested in bringing with him wherever it was they were headed.

“I’m going to be out of town for a while.”  

Gene slowed his step at the sound of Yasuhara’s voice.  Was he on the phone?

“I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

He scanned the room as he entered.  Yasuhara was at the doorway; the door was open, but Gene couldn’t see who Yasuhara was talking to.  Only a pile of brown curls was visible past him. Gene took another step and the round face of a young woman came into view.  Her gray eyes grew wide as she noticed Gene past Yasuhara’s shoulder.

“Beatrice, take care of yourself and—” Yasuhara stopped when her hands and the small package within them were jerked from his own.  He turned his glance to follow Beatrice’s, his face falling when he noticed Gene.

The girl fled.  Yasuhara turned back, taking a few steps to follow Beatrice into the hall with a short cry of “Bea, wait.”  But he seemed to think better of making a scene and came back into the apartment, staring at the door while he shut it.  As if he were hoping she would appear back before it finished closing.

“Sorry if I was interruptin’,” Gene said, more than sure that he had interrupted something.

“Come on, you should eat something before we meet with Cogliano.”

Gene followed Yasuhara to the kitchen where a plate of eggs, tomato, and toast was waiting on the table.  Yasuhara grabbed a mug and the newspaper, and sat across from the plate.

That meant the plate was for him.  Gene’s stomach roiled at the thought of eating.

“I’ll just have some of that coffee.”

Yasuhara poured him a mug while Gene sat down, pushing the plate across the table.

“Hey…” Gene blurted, the need to say something pressing the word out before he had found the question.  Yasuhara turned down the edge of the paper to look at Gene. “I, uh, I hope I didn’t say nottin’ to disturb you, last night...I know there’s a lot about me that tends to give folks the heebies.  If you ain’t comfortable—”

Yasuhara let the paper back up, blocking his face once again.  “Who were you talking to?”  
  
Gene looked at him, and it took all the frazzled self control he had not to reply, ‘I could ask you the same thing.’  “What’cha mean?”

“This morning, when you woke up.  You were yelling,” Yasuhara said, bringing the paper down to rest on the table.

“Oh.”  Gene took a sip of his coffee.  “I had some of my special sort of guests.”

Yasuhara’s face paled.

“You don’t gotta worry, I won’t let them do nothin’ to ya.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“No.”  It wasn’t a total lie.  Most of them were harmless.  Especially for someone who couldn’t see them.

“Do they bother you?”

“Well, alotta them are a real pain in the ass.”  Gene threw Colman, who was still lingering, a look, which Yasuhara tried to follow.  “But they ain’t all bad. Most of them just need help.”

“Help?”

“Yeah, you know, moving on.  Most folks, they don’t end up like this.  They just...go, ya know. But sometimes it don’t work and then they are here, sorta stuck like, so some people help them go.”

“Is that what you do?”

Gene took another drink and shook his head.  “I’m not so good at it. I just seem to attract them.  I can talk to them, but when it comes to making them move on, well...I leave that up to the professionals.”

Yasuhara looked at him, and Gene wished he had paid more attention at those Spiritualist meetings Masako had dragged him to.  He normally didn’t care too much when it came to the details of things, but Yasuhara was making him nervous. Particulars seemed much more important when it came to Yasuhara, with his ledgers and his fancy education.

“Are they still here?” Yasuhara asked after his own sip of coffee.

“Yeah.  Some of them, anyway.  Actually, that reminds me.  Do you think we could stop by this church when we’re out?”

“A church?”

“Yeah, it’s off Tudor.  There’s a priest there I gotta see.  Especially if we gotta skip town.”

Yasuhara stopped drinking his coffee.

“Cause that’s what you meant.  When you told that dame—”

“Cogliano thinks it might be best if we have you relocated for a while.  Given the...circumstances of what happened last night.”

Gene let out a sigh.  While the news didn’t surprise him, he had to admit that it hadn’t occurred to him last night that his actions would lead to this.  This was one of those times where Noll would scold him for jumping to act without thinking.

Noll.  Shit. What were the odds that he wouldn’t have any more jobs while Gene was away?

Either way, there was no doubt that he had just landed his brother in a new heap of trouble.

 

 **“District Attorney Richard** Wilson continues bid for City Council!” a newsboy called out from the intersection.  “Vows to root out organized crime at the source!”

Oliver moved with the flow of the midday traffic as the bells of St. Peter’s rang out, signaling the turn of the hour, and by the hurried steps of the stragglers bustling through its doors, the start of the next Mass.

A sheet of paper suddenly blocked his view.  “Hey mister, you want a paper?” the newsboy asked.

Oliver had begun his automatic ‘no’ when a thought stopped him.  His eyes scanned over the print-heavy sheet. Was it there?

The boy pulled the paper away.  “It’s five cents if you wanna read it, mister.”

“Is there anything about a lighthouse?”  The need to know loosened his lips more than he would normally risk.

The boy’s face fell, brows knitting momentarily before being wiped away by the drive to make a sale.  “Sure, you can read all about it for a nickel.”

Oliver felt that he was lying, but he dug a coin from his pocket and dropped into the boy’s waiting hand nonetheless.

Studying the page as he walked down the street, he tried to remember things he had seen, words that had been pointed out to him, the pages of the small primer that he had had so briefly as a child.

It was pointless.  He knew two of the words, he could guess on three others.  But the one that he needed, the one that might shed some light on the severity of the mess he was about to walk himself into, it could be staring him right in the face and he wouldn’t even blink.

 _It’s nothing to be ashamed of._ Mai’s voice echoed through his head.

Oliver crumpled the paper, tossing it and the memory away as he opened the door.  The bell above the door jingled, announcing his arrival at Brannigan’s Hattery. Eamon, the shopkeep, gave him a nod as he adjusted a brown homburg on the head of his customer.  Oliver returned the greeting and continued on to the hall at the back of the room, still trying to forget the pitious look he had seen in Mai’s eyes.

“Balor.  It’s been a while.”

Oliver’s attention was yanked from his own mind.  He would recognize that slimy voice anywhere. Delaney’s right hand man, commonly known as ‘Vlad,’ had just stepped out of the boss’s office.  

“Mr. Delaney would like a word with you,” he said, sending Oliver a smile that further twisted the wrinkles on his face.

“Yes, that’s why I’m here.”  Oliver straightened and took a step forward.

“You know, I find it quite amusing.”  Vlad moved towards him, his silver handled walking cane making soft thumps on the carpeted floor.  “Your intelligence provided us that lighthouse. And it’s that traitor brother of yours that took it back for Cogliano yesterday.”

“So I’ve heard.”  He and Lin had heard about the incident at the lighthouse less than an hour before, as well as of the higher-ups’ suspicion that it had been Gene’s work.  Incidentally, it was the same phone call that informed him that the boss wanted to see him. Oliver could not imagine that the two subjects were unrelated.

“Sounds like it’s gonna be a bitch to deal with.”  Vlad’s oily smile spread further, yellow teeth gleaming.  “But then again, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

The leather of Oliver’s gloves groaned as his fingers clenched.  It took all of his strength to keep a blank face. “If you will excuse me.”  Oliver forced himself to look into the rancid pools that were Vlad’s eyes. “I don’t want to be late for my meeting.”

“Dutiful as always, I see.”  Vlad moved out of Oliver’s way, but continued walking towards him.  As they passed each other, he reached over and gave Oliver’s shoulder a squeeze.  “Let’s hope you remain that way.”

A shiver rippled down Oliver’s spine.  Even after all these years, this man was still the only person who could provoke fear in him.  Oliver grit his teeth as he pulled the office door open.

Delaney’s office in the back of the hat shop on Baxter Street had not changed much in the twelve years since Oliver and Gene had first been deposited there.  Its familiar forest green walls and dark furniture did nothing to shake the helpless nervousness that hummed along the length of his body.

Oliver forced his hands to unclench.  He wasn’t a child anymore.

“Balor, come in,” Delaney called from his seat behind the large mahogany desk, an ever-present cigar wrapped between thin, upturned lips.  He stood, the large desk still coming to his waist. It was this mild stature combined with his young, amiable face and silver tongue that had allowed Delaney to acquire the contacts and capital needed to create the city of Boston’s largest underworld operation.  But it was his sharp wit and ruthless resolve that had kept it going strong for more than a decade and a half.

Delaney rounded the desk, picking up a bottle and two glasses from the drink cart as he passed, and came to meet Oliver.  His bright green eyes shone with some hidden secret that had always felt impossible to decipher, even now when Oliver had to look down to meet them.

“Sit down,” Delaney said, gesturing to the velvet lined chair that waited in front of the desk as he poured two glasses of whiskey with his other hand.  “Have a drink.”

Oliver accepted the glass and dutifully took a sip as he settled into the chair, his gaze now forced upwards to meet Delaney’s.

Delaney placed his cigar in an ashtray on the desk, and took a sip from his own glass, his freed lips curving higher as he enjoyed the libation.

“Now this here is the real stuff,” Delaney said, tapping a finger against the bottle.  It didn’t look like one Oliver had ever seen at the speakeasy before. “Imported straight from Ireland.  None of that watered-down shit we sell in the speaks. Taste the difference?”

Oliver said nothing.  This was the first time the boss had asked to speak to him one-on-one; Gene or Lin had always done the talking before, and he wasn’t sure if he was actually supposed to answer.

“You and Lin did good work for us with Vincent.  I haven’t gotten the chance to thank you properly for that, things being what they have the past few days.”  Delaney leaned against the desk, close and looming in a way that left Oliver’s shoulders clenched.

“It was a shame he didn’t have more vision than his brother.  Could have saved that family from more grief. But family’s always a tricky situation.  Ain’t it, son?”

Oliver stilled, the glass half way to his lips.  Was Delaney trying to say something? He took a sip, wracking his brain to try to find the answer to a question he was unsure of.

He wondered if he should bring up the lighthouse, or if he should wait for Delaney to mention it.  He had always fallen on the side of leaving it to others to broach new information. The less he said, the less complicated things became.  But he didn’t want Delaney to think that he was avoiding the subject.

Would it better prove his loyalty if he offered to retake the location for him?  And yet, that also ran the risk of putting him into conflict with Gene. If at all possible, Oliver wanted to avoid a direct confrontation with his brother under ‘professional’ circumstances.  Though it seemed like it was only a matter of time before things came to that.

Fortunately, Delaney saved him from having to respond.  “How's that apartment treating you? Having the speak next door isn't giving you too much trouble now, is it?”  Delaney picked up his cigar and took a drag.

“No, sir,” Oliver said, taking another sip.  He, Gene, and Lin had lived in those rooms for nearly a decade, and Delaney had never thought it worthwhile to check on them before.  Why ask about it now?

“Good.  Now, we already have our agreement when it comes to the cat, but with all your hard work, I think it’s high time you deserve a little something more.  Name anything. Women? Booze?”

Oliver raised an eyebrow.  This...was not what he had expected.  “I would think you’d prefer that I refrain from indulgence.  It keeps me focused, sir.”

“That it does.  But a man needs one or two desires.  It makes you human, see?”

“Sir?”

“You’re too inscrutable for your own good, Balor.  I need you to be human. A human, I can understand.  A human, I can _trust_.”

Oliver gulped down another sip of whiskey.  The liquid burning away any fool hearty replies that might point out that it was precisely Gene’s humanity that had led him to betray Delaney.  Alcohol? Women? If Gene had been less swayed by desires, Oliver wouldn’t be in this position.

“You’ve been in your brother’s shadow all this time, I understand.  But now’s the time to become your own man. Time you start thinking about the future.”

Future?  Oliver blinked.  He had never thought of more than making it through the given moment.  ‘More’ was something people outside the business thought about. He and Gene had always been little more than tools.  They were given instructions, not asked for their opinions.

“I don’t need anything, sir.”

Delaney finished his glass and turned his attention back to Oliver.  “Yeah, and why do you suppose that might be the case?”

Oliver furrowed his eyebrows.  The intensity that he had expected to find when he came in was spreading across Delaney’s face now.

“You and that double-crossing brother of yours would’ve died in a gutter if it weren’t for my charity,” he said, brandishing the cigar near Olivers face.  “And how does he repay me? With a knife in the back!” His fist slammed into the top of the desk, ash scattering from the cigar as the bottle jumped with the impact.  Oliver’s hand flew to his pocket on instinct, fingers wrapping tightly around the first marble they found.

“I let him leave, let him _live_ , and that ungrateful son of a bitch uses what I taught him to _steal_ from me. That f—” Delaney stopped himself, his eyes darting to Oliver’s hidden hand.  He ran a stiff hand through his hair as he brought the cigar up for a drag.

The long inhale seemed to calm him, the tension sliding off of his shoulders languidly with the smoke rising from his lips.  He stepped away from the desk, moving out of Oliver’s line of sight as he paced around the room.

Oliver kept his gaze forward.  Delaney wasn’t going to hurt him.  He couldn’t risk losing both of them.  Especially not now that Cogliano had started putting Gene to work.  Oliver pushed away the anger that flared when he thought about the position Gene had just put them in.

“You see how this puts me in a position, son.”

Oliver fought the scowl that wanted to form at the word _son_.  He had always hated it.  And now it grated even more than usual.

“But you, you’re smart.”  Delaney put a hand on Oliver’s shoulder, his fingers twitching at the tension that rippled from the contact.  “I’ve seen you at work, son. Precise. You don’t get carried away.” The fingers tightened. “You ain’t a man for wasted energy for overdoing things.  And you understand the value of an agreement.” The last few words oozed out with another stream of smoke that flowed past Oliver’s shoulder. “The downside of throwing a gift like that away.  Don’t ya, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I won’t speak ill of your brother any further, I’d hate to spoil the time you have together.  I’m sure you are doing your best to help set him right. And I’m sure you will. I’mma generous guy, and it does my heart good to get to give you that chance.”  Delaney gave Oliver’s shoulder one last squeeze and let it go. “I won’t keep you.”

Oliver stood, placing his hat on his reeling head.  Delaney led him across the room back towards the door.

“You just think about my offer.  Whatever you need. A young man like yourself, I’m sure you will come up with something.  Every man’s got his desires.” Delaney laughed and clapped Oliver on the back with a heavy hand that had him fighting to keep his balance.

Oliver nodded slowly and headed out.  What did he desire? _Desire_?  This was going to be difficult.

  


**The cemetery was** quiet, the falling sun was thin and failed to do much to heat the air.  Mai would have preferred to come earlier. To catch the day before the chill had set in too deeply.

But it couldn’t be helped, she had learned after her first visit on a Sunday to wait until nearly the end of the day.  That way the church’s parishioners would be gone and she could speak with her mother without the fear of someone finding her, of recognizing her.  Of asking where she had been this past decade.

A crisp breeze rustled the trees, tearing a few fiery leaves from their bow and tugging at the hem of Mai’s skirt.  She wrapped her arms around herself, the wind stinging through her sweater.

“I think it’s gonna be a long winter, Mama,” she said.  “It’s only September and it’s already so cold. There was even frost on the window when I got home from work last night.”

She kneeled down to leave her flowers, the chill of the grass passing easily through her stockings.

“Work is fine.  I’m having a lot more fun now that I am used to it.  It’s full of so many interesting people. Ayako is funny, but perhaps a little too wild for your tastes, Mama.”

She smiled at the thought.

“And those twins I told you about?  I’ve been trying to get to know them better, but I...I think I may have just made a mess of it.  Oliver only seems to get more angry with me every time we talk. And Gene...” Mai chewed her lip.  “Gene is more like me than I had thought.”

Damp from the grass was seeping into her stockings, but she ignored it.  She sat, leaning against the stone, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He can see them too.”  She looked to the sky, worrying her lip more before she could go on. “I know you never thought I was mad, Mama.  But for so long…”

Mai took in a heavy breath and wiped away the lingering wetness on her cheeks as she watched the falling sun stream over the tops of the headstones.

“It’s a little scary.  But I feel like I’m not alone anymore.  And I wish...I wish I could do something to help them too.  I know, I know, you always told me not to meddle, but they helped _me_ when they had no reason to, and you always said that we should do unto others.”

As if in answer, the leaves rustled softly in the trees.  But whether it was approval or a warning, she could not tell.  Mai sighed, resting and soaking in the small amount of heat that she could glean from the sun.  

“If they would just let me…” she whispered.

She had begun to doze off, when the sound of voices in the distance jolted her awake.

Mai peered over the headstone.  If they were headed towards the main gate, maybe they wouldn’t notice her.  Across the graveyard, Mai could see two men heading away from the church. One of the heads turned her way and she jumped, ducking further down.

“Mai?”  One of the men called out.

How had someone recognized her from that far away?  She had been eight the last time anyone from this church could have seen her.

“Mai, is that you?”

Mai was contemplating the best direction to run when she realized she _knew_ that voice.

She popped up from behind the stone.  “Gene?”

“Heya doll,” Gene waved as he called over.  “I thought that was you.”

Mai blushed down to her toes, the chill forgotten.  “Gene!” She headed over, hardly able to hold back the smile taking over her face.

She couldn’t believe it.  To think that she would meet him here, at a time like this.  She knew it was silly, but it felt like fate. Just as fate brought them together in that alley.

“What brings you here, this fine afternoon?” Gene asked.

Mai pointed back over her shoulder.  “I was just visiting my mother.”

“Oh...I’m sorry ta hear it.”

“It’s okay.  She passed a while back.  I’m just glad to be back in town so I can visit her again.”

Gene nodded.  He opened his mouth to speak again, but his companion beat him to the punch.

“If you will excuse me, Miss Mai, I’m going to take the air,” Yasuhara said with a tip of his hat.  “I’m afraid I haven’t acclimated to the cold snap just yet.” He gave a somewhat exaggerated shiver.  When Gene moved to follow, he gave a small shake of this head.

Gene looked at him, confused.  Yasuhara just smiled back. “Feel free to take your time, Gene.  I’ll be in the iron.” Mai thought she saw him send Gene a wink before he headed towards their car.

Mai smiled at Gene.  He smiled back, and silence enveloped them for the first time since they had met.

Mai scuffed her shoe on the ground.  Why couldn’t she think of anything to say?  Well, that wasn’t true; she had a list of questions a mile long.  About ghosts, and why he was here, and well, there was a lot. Mai took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry if—”

“So—” Gene started at the same time.

They both stopped.  Mai giggled nervously.  Gene let out a chuckle.

“After you,” he said.

“Sorry, I just wanted to apologize.  You are probably busy and here I am stopping you.”

“No.  I, uh,” Gene glanced in the direction Yasuhara had gone off.  “I needed to talk to you anyway.”

Her heart fluttered.  “O-oh, really?”

“Yeah.  I was wondering if you have any questions, you know, about our friends?”

Mai tilted her head.  “Friends? Oh. Uh, no.  I’m still coming to terms with the fact that they are real.”

“Oh, they’re real, alright.”  Gene smiled. “Do you mind if I ask you a question, then?”

Mai chewed her lip for a moment, then smiled.  “Not at all.”

“How often do you see them?”

“...Not all the time.  I used to see them a lot when I was younger.  It wasn’t always frightening, back then. I even made friends with some of them.”  Her smile faded. “But as I got older, I’ve had to…I learned how to ignore them. It’s been years since I last saw a spirit.”

“You don’t say.”  He looked away, adding quietly, “I wish I could do that.”

“No, you don’t.”  Mai blushed at the forcefulness of her own voice and tried a different direction.  “I’ve never met anyone else who could see them. My mother used to tell me it was best to keep it to myself, that no one would understand.  But you said there were others?”

Gene’s face darkened.  “...Your mother had the right idea.  I’ve learned that the fewer people know about it, the better.”

Her heart sank a little at his words.  “Oh, but…”

“And ghosts aren’t often friendly.”  His voice was quick, carrying a trace of...fear?  “Many of them are dangerous. If you have a way to keep away from them, you should.”  

He turned to her, his characteristic grin back on his face.  “After all, you won’t be able to sock them, even with your iron mitts!  They’d just pass through, right?”

“Y-yes, I guess they would.”  Mai smiled weakly back at him.  She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting.

Gene placed a hand on her shoulder.  Mai’s eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed at the personal gesture.

“You just ignore them, Mai.  If they know you can see them, there’s no telling what they might say or do to ya.  You were lucky when you were a kid. But I don’t want to see you put at risk again.”  His eyes searched hers and his hand tightened its grip on her shoulder. “Promise you’ll stay away?”

Mai’s face colored more deeply, and she found herself only able to nod in response.  She had never seen Gene look so serious.

Gene let out a sigh of relief, then released her with a glance over his shoulder.  “Listen...I have to be gone for a little while.”

“Gone?”  Mai blinked.

“I’m not really sure for how long.  I...I won’t be back for dinner on Thursday.  Will you tell Noll I’m sorry?” He looked at the ground with a grimace.  “I’m sorry. Shit.”  
  
“Gene, did something happen?”

“It’s just a… business trip.  Something came up last minute.  You know.” He looked over his shoulder again.  “I should get going. Don’t want to make Yasuhara wait too long.”

No.  Something was wrong.  He was scared. She could tell.

“You stay safe while I’m gone, Mai.”  Gene pointed at her as he backed away.  “If you see a ghost, you get away. I’ll help you when I get back.”

She wanted to ask him to wait, to explain.  Perhaps he didn’t trust her enough to tell the truth.  But she had to try, at least one last time.

“Gene!” she called to his retreating figure.  Her voice hitched pathetically as she asked, “Is there...anything I can help you with?”

He froze, his eyes widening slightly.  But then he shook his head with a resigned smile and half jogged down the path to the car.

And then he left her.

Mai stood among the headstones, the breeze enveloping her like an icy shawl.

Even Gene didn’t want her help.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) No, we are in fact not dead. Who knew? Not us. I know I sure have felt dead this last year.  
> 2) Yes, we do intend to continue writing this story. We have about 40 pages of outline to get through.  
> 3) No, I don’t know when the next chapter will be out. I would tell you it will be less than a year from now but I don’t want to jinx myself.  
> 4) Yes, we did make a bunch of changes, but nothing so substantive that this should feel like a new story. Just a richer, more polished version of what you read before.  
> 5) Yes, we do want to hear your thoughts, send us a review. Stop by our tumblr for the story, speakeasyspirits.tumblr and drop us a dime.  
> 6) No, I don’t know where these questions I am answering came from. But they still feel like they need to be answered.


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